A Boy, a Girl and a Sister
by village bicycle
Summary: "Max!" he yells. I fall silent and glower at him, my chest rising and falling at an increased tempo from my erratic breaths. / He takes two quick steps towards me, grabs my hip with one hand and a handful of my hair with the other, and kisses me. FAX, AU, and going through a strenuous editing process. No wings―or are there?
1. Prologue

**My first story! Aren't you guys excited for me? … No?**

**The one and only disclaimer – I do not own any of the MR books, characters or plotlines. BGS, however, is all mine and all original.**

**SUMMARY: Max sees people. A boy, a girl, and a sister. They aren't real — they can't be real. But Max sees. She feels. She knows they're something more ... She just needs to find out what they are, and who.**

**EDITED: 4/29/13.**

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><p><strong>— PROLOGUE —<strong>

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><p>I see a boy, hair the blackest black flopping into his face, the messy strands covering one midnight eye. His eyes stare back at me, alluring, entrancing. He is possibly a year or two older than I am, and perhaps five inches taller.<p>

I see a girl, curly blonde hair falling to her shoulders. Her large, bright blue eyes gaze up at me, emanating innocence, purity. She is six, maybe, but you can tell she knows much more than she should for her years.

I see a sister. _The _sister, _my _sister. She doesn't look much like me: her hair is dark brown, her eyes like melted chocolate, with skin the perfect shade of tan—Hispanic, like my mother. I look nothing like them, albeit for the eyes. I knew her, the sister, from before it happened. She was real. She was alive. But now she only appears to me.

The boy takes a sure step towards me. He reaches out a hand, places it on my cheek. My heart stutters. He feels so real—but I know he's not. I don't know who he is, what he is, where he came from. All I know is that the four of us—me, the girl, the sister—are the only ones that can see him. Feel him. Touch him.

His hand slides down to rest on my shoulder as the girl walks forward, her steps confident. Her small, thin arms wrap around my waist in an unexpected hug, almost loving. Yet it is just as it was with the boy—I don't know her. But at the same time, it is almost as if she is a part of me.

The sister doesn't come forward as the other two did. No, she kneels, head bowed, and I watch as tears fall from her eyes. I hear her murmur something ('I'm sorry, I'm sorry'), but I can't go to her. My feet are frozen where they are.

Suddenly the dark room where the four of us linger disappears, replaced by a graveyard. I can't see the three anywhere, nor feel their presence; it's almost like I dreamt them.

I stand before a tombstone, three white roses placed delicately at its base, tied at the stems by a black ribbon. It reads:

_**Ella Valencia Martinez,**_  
><em><strong>Loving sister, daughter and friend.<strong>_  
><em><strong>Never forgotten.<strong>_  
><em><strong>January 5 1997 - November 7 2010<strong>_

I gasp and fall to my knees. My head pounds. Memories, not my own, rush through my mind.

_I am sitting in the car, one earbud in my ear, the other in my sister's. My right foot taps to the music's beat in a steady rhythm. My earplug is yanked out suddenly and I turn to glare at my sister. Her features, so unlike mine but for the eyes, are set into a scowl. "Change the song, El," she says, "or I won't give you your earbud back. This song's crap."_

_"Max!" I cry. "That's unfair."_

_She rolls her eyes. "Stop being such a drama queen and change it, yeah?"_

_"Jesus, guys, shut up," says our older brother, Iggy, from the seat beside Max. He's seventeen, one year older than Max and three years older than me. I'm the youngest, and Max never lets me forget it._

_"Yeah, come on, kids," says Dad, from where he drives in the front seat. "This was supposed to be a fun trip, without the bickering, okay? Try to enjoy yourselves."_

_Max sighs. "Whatever." She flicks the earplug at me on its cord, annoyance mixed with feigned nonchalance showing in her expression._

_I take it and shove it in my ear, turning to glare out the window. The song I like is still on, at least, and just to annoy Max I turn it up two bars louder._

_The sky outside is cloudy and grey, casting a gloomy pallor over the city. We've been on the road for an hour, on the way to Colorado for a week-long family holiday. Numerous rain puddles are on the sides of the wide street, rippling with each drop of rain that hits them and whooshing up under car tyres. The storm has been going for hours, and I vaguely I wonder when it might stop._

_Mom screams all of a sudden, breaking the tranquility. I jerk my earplug from my ear, sitting up straight and scared. "Jason!" she yells. "Hit the brakes! Jason!"_

_But it's too late._

_I barely even register it as we crash, spinning off the road and colliding with something I can't see. There's agonizing pain and I open my mouth to scream, but—but I can't. I try to open my eyes and I see darkness. I try to live but I am dead._

I come back to myself, raising a hand to my cheeks and finding hot tears. _Ella_.

Slowly, without taking my notice, the scene fades and changes to another graveyard, where I stand before another tombstone, carved from white marble with black dirt in its cracks. A huge bouquet of daffodils blows with the wind at the tombstone's base, the petals still bright with yellow color but beginning to droop and rot.

I scan the tombstone. It's written in Latin, and though I can't speak the language, I understand the words as if I've known them all my life.

_**Daffy Angelica Walker.  
>Heaven has gained an angel,<br>And while we grieve our hearts go on.  
>May 13 1990 - July 21 1996<strong>_

My head pounds again, harsh and painful and taking me by surprise. I clutch my skull and squeeze my eyes shut, and I'm in a child's body—

_"Mommy!" I yell. "Mommy, stop, please!"_

_She laughs maniacally, like the witches from my nightmares. 'Oh Ange, sweetie. I told you, this is for the best. Please understand. Your daddy is a mean man, and so is everybody else on this wicked earth. We can't stay here, honey."_

_"Mommy," I sniffle, crying now. My protests are feeble. It's as if she can't hear me, like my voice is muffled and she isn't catching my words. "This isn't going to make things better. I don't wanna die, Mommy! Mommy, please!"_

_"We'll be safe, finally, Angel!" she says, elatedly. She's looking out the windscreen but she's not seeing the road. She's seeing another place entirely. "We can be free! No more war— We will truly be in Heaven."_

_I bang on the door of the car, desperately trying to escape. It's locked, and I knew it was locked, but I need to get out, I need to get out..._

_My attempts are worth nothing. I can't see through my tears anymore. I slump down in my seat, the seatbelt's edge digging painfully into my neck. I don't try to shift it. What use is there?_

_"Mommy, please," I sob, even as I know it's no use. "Please..."_

_"The cliff!" she cries. "There it is, Angel! Are you ready for freedom? We are—"_

_Her voice breaks off. Even if she was still speaking I can't hear her over my screams. We're plummeting, fast, and there's the sounds of metal tearing, breaking glass, and I'm not sure whether I'm trying to see through tears anymore, or blood._

_Something hard hits my temple. It doesn't hurt. I barely feel it. It's kind, even, easing me away from the pain, easing me away..._

_It's dark, and I welcome it._

I blink my eyes open. I lay crumpled on the ground, uncaring of the dirt. I can feel the cold marble of the tombstone pressing against my arm, but even as I lay there the feel of it changes—it becomes less cool, and somehow smoother. I look up. This tombstone is tall, larger than Ella's and Angel's, made of black stone. A wreath of poppies, bright and red, lies before it, and I almost trample it in my haste to stand.

I read the inscription, like I know I have to.

_**In memoriam of Nicholas Ride  
>Brave soldier, loved son, and trusted friend<strong>_

_**October 26 1897 - December 9 1915**_

This time I expect the memories as they come.

_"Wait," Ari says. His voice cracks. "The whistle's coming."_

_"Ari, I'm not even in the first wave," I reply, torn between annoyance, frustration, and sympathy. "I'm in the third."_

_"I am in the first. So shut up, Fang." His voice is trembling, with anger or fear I'm not sure. "I might be prepping _myself_, yeah?"_

_Unsure of how I should reply, I just say, "Good luck, mate."_

_He nods. We clap hands, and then he goes to his regiment, and I retreat, standing back against the trench wall. The soldiers prepare themselves, tense and rigid as they wait with their bayonets drawn._

_The whistle blows._

_They rush over the trenches._

_We hear their screams in less than a second, along with the sounds of gunfire. There's blood already coming down on us, pooling out from bodies and running down to where we stand. I feel nauseous, and I pinch my arm, steeling myself._

_A man beside me lifts his head slightly above the trench to see what's happening—are we being slaughtered, or are they? My question is answered promptly enough—before the man can blink, before any of us can warn him, he is shot through the head. I recoil and stare at his body, limp and crumbled where he stood just a moment ago. There's some of his blood on my face and I don't have the heart to wipe it away._

_A body rolls over the top of the trenches, dressed in our uniform. Men with red crosses stitched onto their armbands rush towards the fallen man, but he's already dead, face-down in the dirt. Only when I come closer do I realize it's Ari._

_The screams from up above fade, then stop. We wait, tense. I glance at a comrade and see he's pissed himself in his fear, but he stands strong. We all know what happens to deserters, anyway, but none of us want to leave, not now. Our friends are fallen. We will avenge them. T_

_he second wave are readying themselves, getting into positions, white-faced and white-knuckled around their weapons. _

_Daggers have been stabbed into the hard wall of the trench, pinning letters beneath their blades. Letters addressed to family, friends, loved ones, with names scrawled on their envelopes. Some are streaked with crimson. Beneath some of the daggers hang treasured possessions or family heirlooms, from men who know they won't return._

_I spot my letters, and my family ring. I am one of those men._

_The same thing happens to the second wave as it did to the first. We hear their screams and their slaughter, and it goes on until we're almost driven mad. And then it stops, and we know it's time._

_The lieutenant, standing behind us while we get into positions, desperately waits for his radio to work. Once it finally does, he pleads, "Please, sir, not another wave. We're getting slaughtered! The third will die, just as the first and second, and so will the fourth—"_

_An angry British voice replies, voice crackling with radio static. "Hurry the hell up and send the wave! I don't care about losses! We will win! We must win! The Turks stand no chance against us.__"_

_"But, sir—"_

_"Send the wave." The voice has turned low and deadly. The lieutenant grimly nods, his eyes forlorn as he looks over us and shoves the radio into his breastpocket._

_I'm angry at what I heard, and I know the men around me feel the same, but there is naught we can do. _

_We will fight for our country. Even those who were not born Australian, like me, will stand proud and tall, and will fight until we can't fight any longer._

_I take a deep breath. The whistle blows._

_We run up, a mass of men whose shouts and war-cries are cut off as abruptly as they begun. The gunshots are loud, the loudest things I've ever heard. The field is horrific, something from the worst of nightmares, covered in the red of blood and the beige of Australian uniforms. Blood splashes beneath my feet as I run, run, not stopping, shooting where I can. My friends and comrades fall around me, one by one. I hear the sounds of their death._

_I am the last one standing. My feet pound against the hard dirt. I hear cries from the Turks—"Shoot him! Shoot him!"_

_There are three quick shots._

_The pain burns through my body like hell's fire as the bullets lodge themselves in my chest. I fall to my knees, but I am still breathing. I refuse to collapse. I will not fall. I will not fall._

_There is another gunshot, between my eyes. I fall._

I shake, back to myself once more. I can almost feel the pain of the bullets in my body and the sight of my friends, dead, around my feet; the glass and rocks and metal as I was Angel, falling from the cliff; the screams that won't come out when I'm Ella, the agony—

When I was Ella, in her body, I could hear my screams, and Iggy's. My mom's and dad's. I feel the guilt that I always feel when I think of Ella's death. Why did she have to die, and we all got to live? Why couldn't I die in her stead?

Dad blames himself for El's death, just as I blame myself. We tell Dad that it wasn't his fault, obviously, but he doesn't listen. It's like he can't hear us at all.

I close my eyes and breathe deeply, sucking in cool air. When I open my eyes, I already know I'm no longer in Fang's graveyard. I'm back in the blackness where I started, with the boy, the girl and the sister standing before me, waiting, knowing what I've seen.

None of them open their mouths to speak, but I can hear their voices in my head.

_We are trapped, _they say. _And you are the only one who can help us._

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><p><strong>Read and review, chickadees!<strong>


	2. VOICES

**I know Max is crazily OOC in some parts of this chapter, but her true character reveals itself, don't you worry. And, also, I want to tell you all know that I have never been a supporter of Nudge/Gazzy nor a hater, but it seemed fitting for this story. In any other circumstance, I would never write that pairing. Ever. **

**EDITED: 4/30/13 - 5/4/13  
>(May the 4th be with you? And happy 100 followers, BGS!)<strong>

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><p><strong><strong>―<strong>****VOICES**―****

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><p>I jolt awake. My face is stiff with dried tears, my eyes sore and swollen. Sluggish, I force myself out of bed and trudge down the hall and into the bathroom for a shower, glancing at the blue-framed picture of Ella on my mantlepiece as I go.<p>

Heat from the water reddens my skin. The water's as hot as it can get without scalding me too badly. Part of me wishes I could turn it up hotter.

Even though he's my best friend, Iggy doesn't know about the dreams. Or dream, really**―**it's not like it varies. It's just the same one, every single night. Over and over.

Dad and I used to be close, but we aren't anymore. He's a shell of who he was**―**his skin sallow, face gaunt. Eyes that were once vividly blue are now sunken into his head, faded to a somber gray. It makes me sad to think of the humor he used to have, the liveliness. He was one of the happiest men I knew.

Mom's always there for him, of course: feeding him, clothing him, keeping him company every hour she can. She acts like it doesn't affect her, but I know it does. I stay up late each night, and I can hear her crying through the walls.

It's funny**―**ironically funny**―**that before the accident, I never had any dreams. Not one. I sort of felt like the whole worldwas playing some sort of colossal practical joke on me: other kids would come to school and talk about their dreams, about naked speeches in front of assembly and dinosaurs eating purple broccoli; about swimming on air and being a mermaid. But I'd never had a dream, and I'd never given a naked speech in front of the school, or seen dinosaurs eating purple broccoli, or swam on air or become a mermaid.

Did it make me feel left out? I don't really know, to be honest. I've always been one of those more independent kids, you know, happy to walk home alone and cross the road alone and eat lunch alone when it suited me. But I did know it wasn't normal not to have dreams, or I gathered it wasn't, after my seventh birthday.

For some reason I didn't ask my mom about it. I ask her about everything, even now, but something stopped me. I'm not sure what it was. Maybe a part of me still believed that I did have dreams, and I just forgot them overnight or something**―**or maybe there were other kids who were dream-less too, who woke up remembering nothing but empty black space.

I told Iggy, though. He said it was weird and I should tell Mom. I didn't talk to him about it again.

Ella found out when she was eleven, after eavesdropping on me and Iggy late and night when I couldn't sleep. I'd gone straight to his room and sat in his bed, talking to him about how I didn't want another dream-less night, how I didn't want to wake up tomorrow knowing it was weird.

She didn't think I was weird, when she talked to me about it. "It isn't freaky, Max," she told me, looking all wise and matter-of-fact in that way only eleven-year-olds really can. "I'm sure plenty of people don't have dreams. And even if they do**―**what's so bad about you being different? There's nothing special about dreams. They even come with down-sides, you know. Nightmares. But you don't get that."

We got a bit closer after that. She had dreams, of course, and she never denied it. We'd sit in her bedroom and she'd tell me about what she'd dreamt the night before, and the night before that. Even her nightmares she told me about. And once, when she was thirteen, she even told me about an explicit dream she'd had, the first one she'd experienced. It was kind of funny, really**―**there were guys in purple mankinis, and the whole thing was like some huge orgy turned Mardi-Gras.

Fourteen months later, she was dead.

And ever since then I've had the same dream every night.

You know, they could at least give me some _variety_. I go sixteen years of my life devoid of dreams, and then when whatever power there is _finally_ gives me something, it's the same damn thing every bloody night.

I step out of the shower, dry off, and wrap a towel around my body. The heat's made me feel weak and jellyish, but I'm awake, at least. I take a few minutes to blow-dry my hair and run a comb through the blonde tangles, even as I anticipate the messiness that'll undoubtedly come later, before I leave the bathroom.

Iggy's waiting outside in the hall, his stance impatient. His arms are crossed over his chest and his foot is tapping in a steady beat. He hears me come out and looks over to me, or where he thinks I am**―**his cloudy eyes focus on my ear. I marvel at how well he's adjusted to his blindness, the result of a severe injury in the crash.

He doesn't let his lack of sight faze him, and he's always had the best hearing in the family. I guess losing your eyesight only heightens your hearing, right? Because now it's like he hears everything**―**every footstep, every ant across the floor, every breath from those around him. And maybe it is a struggle for all of us, but he takes it in stride, keeps his back tall and his face strong. He's not joyful or anything. But he's managing.

"Jesus, Max," he says. "Take long enough in there?"

"No," I respond. "I can go back in, if you want."

"Oi! No, no, you're banished. Out, Maxina Bambarina."

I roll my eyes and move past him towards my bedroom door, saying as I go, "Do you _want_ to get punched?"

He just snicker and duck into the bathroom. "There better be no Max-rabies in here!" And he close the door behind him. A few seconds later I hear the water start.

I go into my room and slip on the first pieces of clothing I see**―**a comfortable black tank and gray skinny jeans. I throw on a curduroy jacket and a thick white scarf before heading downstairs to grab myself some cereal, without bothering with makeup.

_If Ella was here, she'd force me to wear make-up,_ I think.

Taking the milk out of the fridge, I force back thoughts of Ella and lazily fill up my cereal bowl.

_I feel like doughnuts_.

"Mom!" I shout, hearing her rustling around in the living room. "Are there any doughnuts left? I'm hungry."

"Aren't you always hungry?" She pops her head around the arch between the living room and the kitchen. "You're making breakfast already! You don't need doughnuts."

"I always need doughnuts!" I protest. She doesn't budge...

"Oh, Max!" she cries, covering her face when I attempt the Bambi eyes. I grin in triumph. _I win_. "You can't do that to me!" she exclaims.

I stick my tongue out. "I just did."

She scoffs, but goes to the pantry to get me my doughnuts like I knew she would. "You only get one," she warns as she goes.

"Alright, alright."

When she comes back in**―**and I fail at swiping a second doughnutwithout being caught**―**the bantering mood's gone, mostly. She places the box on the counter beside me while I spoon my last bits of cereal into my mouth. I go to rinse out the empty bowl in the sink. "Is Dad awake?" I ask.

Almost immediately she tenses. I almost think she won't reply, but she does. "No. Not yet," she says. "Hopefully you're at school before he wakes."

"Is he ever going to improve?" I huff exasperatedly. "Ella isn't even his fault!"

Mom flinches like I've slapped her. "It's not just guilt about that," she says quietly. I notice lines at the sides of her mouth that weren't there before, new wrinkles between her eyebrows, and even streaks of gray in her the usual gloss of her brown hair. "He isn't mentally stable. He's sunk into some severe mental illnesses ... it's almost like he's in a waking coma. The doctors are saying**―**"

"Oh, no," I say, shaking my head. "Don't pull that whole _the doctor said_ thing on me. Dad's fine! He will get better, okay? There isn't anything wrong with him, Mom."

"Honey**―**"

"No." I take a bite out of my doughnut, but it's tasteless, bland. The sweetness I expect doesn't come. My tongue feels dry and swollen in my mouth.

Mom watches me helplessly as I kick open the bin, dump the last bits of the doughnut in the can, and storm from the room.

I reach my bedroom intending to sling my bag over my shoulder and leave the house, but Iggy's sitting on my bed with my bag already in his lap, waiting as if he knows exactly what I want to do.

"Give me the bag, Iggy," I say, in my this-is-business tone.

"No." He stays where he is. "I could hear what you were saying with Mom. You should've let her talk."

I look at my feet and stay silent.

He looks up at me, and his blind eyes are shining. "Max ... Dad has cancer."

I freeze. "What?"

"Dad has cancer. Lung. He smoked a lot when we were younger. You were three. Mom made him stop because we were all so little, especially Ella. Apparently he's had it for a while, or at least the beginnings of it, but his depressive symptoms have strengthened the cancer and brought it into full action. They're worried about his state of mind, too, Max. They think he might have dementia. So Dad's _not okay_. Stop pretending he is. Stop feeding yourself lies."

I don't give him any choice about my bag this time. I snatch it from his grip, sling it over my shoulders, and leave without saying goodbye.

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><p>"Max!" Nudge cries, when she sees me. She's standing by the school's gate, waving furiously. I'm somewhat surprised her arm hasn't come off in her vigor. "Hey! How was your morning?"<p>

I shrug. "Okay. Just a morning."

"That's a good outlook," she says, but if she's trying for sarcasm it fails against the natural chirpiness of her voice. "Well, there's a new kid at school today. He's _so_ cool. Him and his brother came from Parlacofred College**―**you know, that one on the other side of town."

I nod as if I'm listening.

Lissie comes to join us, giving me a quick hello and linking her arm with mine before launching into the conversatino. "The other one's hotter, bro. His name's Dylan. I was talking to him just a minute ago**―**_god, _he's hot**―**and he says his brother's called Gazzy." She shrugs. "Must be some whacko nickname or something."

"Too hot brothers," Nudge says dreamily. "Can't girls marry two guys at once in some country? Or is that only the other way around."

I can't help it; I laugh. "Other way around. Just marry one and lock the other in your basement or something to visit on special occasions."

They both stare at me until I'm positively uncomfortable, and then Nudge says slowly, "Max. You're a genius! Oh my _God_**―**"

"You can _not_ lock a guy in your basement!" Lissie says, laughing. "He'll never want to bang you around all those spiders."

Nudge looks affronted. "I can take him out on dates and things. And you'll find my basement is spider-free! Place even has a carpet, one of them old-fashioned Aztec ones from, like, the Jesus ages. And there's so much alcohol. We can just get wasted and bang all day." She shrugs as if it's the most normal thing to say in the world.

"Hey, Nudge," I say. "Have you even talked to either of them?"

"Well, _no_..."

"He's in our core classes, I think," Lissie informs us. "The Gazzy one. We have English with him this morning."

Nudge starts squealing something incoherant, and I roll my eyes. "Yo**―**"

I'm cut off by an abrupt scream, and a sharp tug on my arm. I stumble backwards, and only Lissie's grip on me keeps me from tumbling.

"What the hell?" I say.

"Look," Lissie says airily, pointing with starry eyes at a boy with scruffy, honey-blonde hair, beside a shorter guy whose hair's curly and blonde. They both have brilliant blue eyes. "It's them! Both of them! And are they**―**" She stops. "Oh my God. They're coming. They're _coming_!"

I glance at Nudge. She looks as if she's about to crap herself.

The guys approach us. Gazzy's face looks sort of familiar and I frown, trying to figure out where I know that smile from. His grin, though, looks exactly like Iggy's**―**and I've already got his personality pinned, if the mischievous glint in his eyes is anything to go by. The guy himself is cute, actually, sort of smallish with these chubby cheeks and deep angelic dimples. He literally looks like one of those angels out of the paintings you see from back in the 1400s and stuff, all rounded faces and curls and wings.

_Does he really look familiar to you__? _

I start and look over my shoulder, but there's no one there. I convince myself I imagined the voice, the young chime of a little girl, and shove the thoughts out of my head.

"Hey, Max, you okay?" asks Nudge. She's so busy trying to neaten up her wildcurls that I'm surprised she noticed my little reaction.

"Yeah," I say, forcing out a false laugh that comes out painfully high-pitched and strained. "I'm just dandy! Thanks for asking."

Lissie looks at me strangely as she hitches her skirt up a little higher, but decides not to say anything. I'm grateful.

Gazzy finally arrives in front of us**―**he must've stopped to speak to someone else on the way or something**―**and grins that grin at us. "Hi. I'm Gazzy," he states, as if we don't already know.

Clearly Nudge doesn't want him to know we know. She fluttered her eyelashes. "I'm Nudge. But don't wear it out, you know?" She laughs almost as shrilly as I did before. "My name's already worn out, to be honest. People wore it out! That 'don't wear it out' saying is actually pretty relevant. But my name's pretty cool, right? I like my name! And Lissie, my ginger friend**―**" Lissie cast Nudge a sour look but decided not to interrupt. "**―**has a pretty cool name too, you know? Damn, I wish I had red hair. But it totally wouldn't work with my complexion. You're lucky you're pale, Lissie, everything goes with pale. But everybody wants to be tan. _Max_ is tan! And Max has the _best_ name! The bestest _of _the best! But your tan is weird, Max, because you never ever suntan with us when we're at the beach. You just go in the water. But your skin is really pretty. Your tan is, like**―**"

I slap a hand over her mouth. "Enough, Nudge!" I groan. "My ears are bleeding. And Gazzy's totally freaked out." He just laughs.

Nudge's eyes widen. "Smffrgrhz."

"What was that?" he snickers.

She claws at my hand desperately, and with a roll of my eyes I release her.

"You should've kept her like that," Lissie says pleasantly. "The silence was enjoyable."

"So, Gazzy," Nudge flirts, looking so stereotypical**―**and failing so badly**―**that it takes all of my self-restraint not to laugh. She's tall, taller than Gazzy, and the height difference between them is almost comical. "How old are _you_?"

"Fifteen," he grins, puffing out his chest. "Sixteen in November."

She beams. "I'm fifteen too, and sixteen in November too! How cool is that?"

"Really?" Gazzy says. I'm almost surprised. I didn't think he'd be enthused by her ... Nudgeness. "What date's your birthday?"

"Twenty-third."

"_What?!"_ Gazzy splutters. "That's my birthday!"

They stare at each other, awestruck, and from that moment on their conversation begins as if they're two best friends. Lissie and I exchange glances.

"They've known each other one minute**―**"

"**―**so they're _clearly_ meant to be," she finishes for me, supressing a grin of her own. She checks her phone. "Bell's about to go. Wanna head to English?"

"Er, yeah," I say, starting to walk off. I see someone else start to walk beside us on my other side, and I glance at them. "Oh**―**Dylan?" I say, surprised.

"Hi," he says, and smiles. "How'd you know my name?"

I shrug. "Word travels fast here."

"No kidding." He looks past me at Lissie and gives her a smile too. "Hi, Lissie."

"Hi!" she squeaks, gripping my arm again. I can already predict bruises.

Dylan opens his mouth to say something, but his voice is cut off. Someone's calling my name. I turn around.

"Sam! JJ!" I exclaim, and jog over to them. Lissie stays back with Dylan, chatting to him happily.

"How are you guys?" I ask them.

"Good," Sam says, smiling at me. I feel sort of awkward with the way he looks at me**―**as if we're still together or something. I don't want to have to talk to him again about the reasons why I broke it off, but...

"How are you, Max?" JJ asks me, breaking in. She gives me a knowing look, as if she could sense my discomfort. And I can tell there's more to the question than just conversation starters.

"Oh," I say, "I'm okay. We're managing well enough at home."

"That's good," she replies. Then I notice what she's wearing.

"Oh my God, JJ," I say. "You forgot to get dressed again? Why doesn't your dad stop you?"

She laughs. "He does it too!"

I laugh back at her. She's wearing her pajamas, canary yellow and almost painfully bright under the sun. Her hair, a shade of ash brown, is all over the place, clearly unbrushed, and she wears no shoes on her feet. "Your family's _so_ weird. How do you never get detention? Iggy tried to pull off a pajama day once and got detention."

JJ grins. Her multicolor braces sparkle. "My mom's the principal! _Duh_. I can do whatever I _want, baby_!" She whoops in joy.

Sam snickers. "I honestly have no idea why I'm friends with you."

"Thats m—"

The bell cuts JJ off mid-word, and she pouts, then yells, "Dammit! I _hate_ school!"

"Story of my life," I groan, as Sam chides, "Calm down, J! Could you _get_ any louder?"

She glares at him, crosses her arms, then dramatically storms off with a _humph__!_

Sam just laughs. "We've got English, right?"

"Yeah. With bloody Mr Potts."

"Jesus."

"Yeah."

And we head off to class.

* * *

><p>"That's incorrect. See, if..."<p>

I sigh, zoning out of whatever Mr Polle is saying and tapping my pen incessantly on the surface of my desk. A few people glance at me in annoyance, but I ignore them.

"Max," Mr Polle calls, starting me out of my daydreams. I start, and jump up in my seat. "Do you have the answer?"

I know he picked on me because he knew I wasn't paying attention, and part of me wants to scream at how unfair it is (even though it's not, really). Go all movie-esque and stand up, slamming my books down on the desk before storming dramatically from the room. But this isn't a movie, and none of me _really _wants to be subject to an angry Mr Polle, so I try to make do.

And as hard as I try, I can't remember what the hell his stupid question even was.

_It's eleven million people_, a voice says, coming from nowhere, sounding almost amused, like it's snorting at me under its breath or something. It sounds like it's in my ear, but when I look, there's no one there but the boy to my left sucking ceaselessly on the tip of his pen, and the girl to my right, who's taking sly pictures under her desk of a semi-attractive guy in our class. They don't look like they heard anything, so I shove the "voice" out of my head, blame it on my imagination, and try to focus on the class.

But even if the voice was imaginary, stemming from some sort of whacked-out craziness I didn't know I had, it still gave me an answer for Mr Polle. He had to give me props for trying, and it's better than a detention. Yolo, right? (No. Not yolo. I'm really sorry you just had to experience me saying yolo.)

"Er... Is it eleven million people?" I guess uncertainly. Mr Polle gives me his renowned "This raises my suspicions!" look, as if he can see who told me the answer by staring at me, before he slowly nods and resumes lecturing the class about whatever the topic is.

I hate history.

You know, I really, really, _really_ wish we were in one of those fancy-pants schools that dished out high-tech laptops to each student and allocated summer and winter uniforms and all that bullshittery. Because maybe if I had a laptop of my own in class, I would _actually be able to give Mr Polle his damn answers_. I'm not going to get them without some kind of (preferably technological) help. Even beer-bellied Mr Poille knows that.

_You could at least thank me for the help_.

I freeze. What the hell? Oh, God. _I'm crazy, I'm crazy, I'm crazy, I'm crazy―_

_You're not crazy_, it says, coming again. I can distinguish it enough to know it's male―and why _my_ crazy voice would be male, I don't know. Don't crazy people hear their own voices in their heads talking to them as, like, another personality, or something? Or maybe it _is_ other voices. God, I don't know. (See? This is why I need a cool-ass laptop. To search things like this.)

So I ignore the voice. I don't want to speak to my crazy.

_And stop ignoring me. I'm not in your imagination._

As hard as I try to ignore it, I start to get freaked out. Why the hell am I hearing voices? Well, a voice―there's only one. But I'm still panicked and it's getting hard to breathe.

_I'm telling you, you're not crazy, _it―he―says again. I can almost hear him rolling his eyes. _Or ... maybe you are, actually. They always do end up picking people who are nutjobs. You know―asylum-dwellers, psychotic murderers, those people that think they're part fish, or Superman... You don't think you're Superman, do you?_ When I don't reply, too busy struggling to keep my breathing even, he says, _Oh, God. You think you're Superman. I got assigned to someone who thinks they're Superman. Please don't jump off a building or anything―you can't fly, and that would just be stupid. Like, really stupid. _

If he can talk to me, I can talk to him. I focus, as hard as I can, even through the tightness in my lungs. _Who the hell are you?_ I manage. _Why are you in my head__?_

He laughs. _Blunt, you are._

I try to say, _Tell me who you are! _but it's too hard to think and breathe and I feel like I'm choking.

His voice gentles. _Hey. Calm down. Just―inhale, exhale, okay? Slowly. You're not crazy. I promise. Please breathe. I'll explain everything_.

Gradually I do as he says, trying to steel myself so I can respond legibly. After a few minutes I'm good enough to give him an answer. _Okay, then__, _I say, and it's harsher than I mean it to be. _Explain. Who the hell are you? Why are you in my head? Why are you here? And give me a straight answer, not something whack. Are you a scientist? Is this one of your latest experiments―mind_ _invasions?_

Again, he laughs. _Mind invasion experiments would be cool. But I'm not a scientist. I'm dead._

I stop, then scowl. He's beginning to get on my nerves. _I told you to give me a straight answer._

_I know. And I am. Honestly, does it look like I'm here alive speaking to you, face-to-face? Does it look like anyone else can hear my voice? It's because I'm dead, sweetcheeks. Gone. Passed on, expired, put down, spirited away, whatever. _There's bitter humor to his tone now.

There's a sort of ... humble arrogance about him. Does that make sense? I'm not sure if it does, but if it would for anyone, it's him. Proud arrogance that he exudes like it's some sort of skin, but humility lying just under, hidden in the tones and the words. And despite the shallowness he's putting off, there's a strange wisdom there, too. He _sounds_ young―my age, maybe older by a few years―but you can hear age beyond those years.

I try to come to terms with the hugeness of what he said. _Okay... So if you're dead, why are, you, like―_

_In your mind? _

_Yeah._

This time I swear I really can hear his shrug. _You'll find out._

I'm infuriated, but I'm not sure how to reply. How are you supposed to talk to someone who's dead? I doubt he just came to stop by from the spirit world for a visit or something, a nice little chat on a Monday afternoon, but I have no idea what his motives are, or what he wants from me. What could I give to him that he could possibly want, that he doesn't already have?

_Max―_

"Max!"

At first, I'm not sure if the second voice is real or if it's the guy in my head again, but it's audibly more substantial, like the guy's was water and this one's like hard earth beneath my feet. I look up and JJ's standing there, waiting impatiently and giving me the strangest look. Which is big for her, because she's the Strangosaur 2000, and anyone she deems worthy of a weird look has got to be doing something very strange indeed.

I wonder for a second what it is I've done to deserve a JJ look, but when I look around and see that everyone else―even the teacher―has gone, it comes to me soon enough. "What?" I say stupidly.

She rolls her eyes and looks down at me, unimpressed. "Class has ended, goof. How can you not notice everyone leaving? You're normally first out."

I just shrug. She half-laughs, then starts walking off towards the door. When I stay where I am, she calls over her shoulder, "Come on, Max! Let's _gooo_._" _So I grab my books, hefting them up in my arms, and follow her out.

We stop at our lockers, shoving our stuff roughly in and grabbing our bags, then head towards the doors. The corridors are mostly deserted, except for the occasional teacher, or after-school music student.

JJ babbles on about how torturous PE was, and talks about how screwed she is for the fifty-billion assignments we have due. I nod and give a "yeah" or two where necessary, but for the most part I tune out, aimlessly watching my feet take each step along the hall, down the stairs, out into the courtyard.

"You know," JJ goes on, finding a new string of topic to elaborate on, "I think I might like Sam, at least a little. I mean, he's cute―you gotta admit. Obviously I won't do anything unless it's cool with you or I'd be totally dog, and I don't even know if he likes me back. But..."

Step after step after step. Her words fade out again.

And then tune back in. "And so there, right in front of us in the gym, even with Mr Leroy watching, Marlena grabbed his face and kissed him. Gazzy, I mean, not Leroy. And it was on the cheek, but it was all big and slobbery, like she was a dog licking all over his face and stuff. Nudge, oh-ho, Nudge was _so_ angry! Honestly, I..."

Step after step after step. JJ keeps going. I try to pay attention but it's getting harder and harder to stay focused―this slow, steady pounding has begun in my head, an aching in my temples and behind my eyes that's gradually growing more and more painful.

"I wish we could've heard more about the War," JJ says wistfully. "It was really interesting. And sad, too. All those Australian soldiers ... that was brutal. They were all hell brave, though. Like Katniss Everdeen brave. I don't think I could ever be that brave, even if I wanted to be. That one guy―you know, the one who outran all his friends and nearly got to the other side, was shot down before he could make it―imagine being in his position. Seeing all your friends die around you and stuff. Apparently they've made movies about it. Stuff of legends."

I frown. What she's saying sounds familiar, and not because I heard it in Mr Polle's droning history class. "The guy," I say, "did you know his name?"

She stares at me for a second, as if she's surprised that I'm doing anything other than humming my agreement―which means that she probably knows I wasn't even listening to her―then shrugs. "Nah. Doubt it's recorded. There'd be so many bodies it'd be hard to distinguish one from the other, let alone name them. Right?"

"Yeah," I say, but my mind's already in a different place. "Right."

This time when the voice comes, almost immediately after I finish speaking and JJ restarts on her babble, I'm nearly expecting it. _I'm famous!_ it chimes cheerfully, sounding awfully proud of itself. _I should get one of those gold stars. In Hollywood, you know―the 'Walk of Fame', or whatever. That'd be wicked._

I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, pinch myself hard on the arm, count to three―but I'm not dreaming. It doesn't leave; I don't wake up. _So you are the guy from my dream? _I think back at him. _Nicholas Ride?_

_Nicholas_, he snorts. Instead of answering my question, he says: _Your friend's talking. Your attention span is shit, to be honest. You should work on that. _And then he's gone. I can feel his absence just as heavily as I could feel his presence.

In vain, I try to call him back, firing questions at him as if I expect answers. Which I don't. _Who are you? Did you die in the war? Are you in my dreams? Are you Nicholas Ride? Why are you talking to me? What do you want with me? Did someone send you? Who sent you? How are you in my head? _And, like I expected, I get nothing from him but mocking silence.

"Max!" JJ says loudly. "Jesus, what's with you today? It's like you're in Spain or something. Like, real-Max is in Spain, and you're just a boring old clone of Max who doesn't reply when she's supposed to or leave class on time or anything."

I smile sheepishly. "Sorry. Headache."

"Oh, right," she says, nodding understandingly.

This headache feels different from my normal ones, somehow. After Ella's accident, I started getting really bad headaches, frequently. That's what JJ thinks it is now, I can tell. But this time it doesn't feel as if Ella's death is the reason.

In a sudden jolt of recognition, I see my house down the street, guarded behind a painted white fence. I hadn't even realized how close I'd gotten to home.

"Thanks for walking, JJ," I say, when we get to the gate. "And waiting after history, and being so patient and everything. I don't know why I've been so out of it." I do, but I decide not to mention it.

"Hey, it's fine," JJ says with a smile. She gives me a quick hug. "See you tomorrow."

"Yeah, see you," I say. She leaves as I head inside.

No one's in the living room, but I can hear noise from upstairs; I dump my bag by the sofa then go up to Iggy's room, seeing him sprawled on his bed, cheek propped on his fist and his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. There's some sports video playing from his phone, and the commentary rings out from the speakers.

I go in, stepping over the discarded clothes and littered rubbish pieces on the floor, so I can sit on his bed beside him. "Hi," I say.

"Hi," he says.

"Where is everyone?" I ask. "Mom doesn't have work on Mondays, but she's not home, is she?"

Iggy shuts off the video and locks his phone, throwing it blindly across the room (no pun intended). He looks grim. "No, she's not."

I'm almost scared to ask, but I know I have to. "Where is she then?"

Finally he looks at me as well as he can, milky blue eyes finding a spot between my eyebrows. "Dad's in hospital," he says, as if that answers everything.

"What?" It feels like the chill of the air has gotten past my skin, past my clothes, and has started to turn my blood to ice.

"Dad's in hospital," Iggy says again, flatly. "Cancer―dementia―depression―what else did you think would happen? Honestly, Max, what did you think? That he's just going to magically heal up and be fine? Newsflash―he's _not_!" Iggy's voice raises until it's almost a shout. "He isn't fine! And you know what? He's probably going to fucking _die_! Accept that, or it'll just hurt more when the time comes. Lying to yourself will just make it worse. Are you really that fucking stupid?"

There's no reply I can give him. Normally I'd snap or yell back; normally I'd be angry, or try to find a sarcastic retort. Nothing comes except numbness and cold. I hear Iggy's words in my head. _He isn't fine! And you know what? He's probably going to fucking _die_!_

Eventually, my brother quietly says, "Mom's trying to look for a job, something to sustain us and pay for all the hospital fees that are gonna come flooding in. But it seems pretty grey. This house, it's expensive―we might have to move, Max. Someplace modest. We need this cash. We're running so low without Dad's income."

"Yeah," I say weakly.

"My job doesn't earn enough," he continues, still in that same flat, quiet tone. "Boss doesn't pay much. Fifty per car max, I reckon. Sometimes I don't even get paid at all."

"Yeah," I say again, looking at my hands. The fingernails are low and bitten. "I'm thinking of getting my own job." Iggy doesn't say anything, and I have nothing else to add. We sit there in somber silence.

"I miss Dad," Iggy whispers eventually. "Not this Dad―the old Dad, the real Dad. It's like he's barely alive anymore." I've never seen Iggy cry before, and there's no tears coming from him now―although maybe his eyes are wetter than normal, and maybe his voice sounds as clogged and rough as a cryer's might.

My own tears are pricking at my eyes, hot and startling. "He has to live, Iggy. He has to. For us. For Ella. He can't give up on her. If he really thinks it's his fault, don't you think he'd see that she doesn't want this? She wouldn't want him to die!" My voice cracks and I bite my lip, hard, to stop myself from sobbing.

Iggy just stares sightlessly at the pattern on the bedspread, the boyish stripes of red, green and blue. He just murmurs, "For Ella," then grabs my hand and holds tight.

We don't let go for hours.

* * *

><p><strong>Hope that's alright, guys. Review! I hate when people just subscribe or favorite and never bother to review. Just a smiley face – <strong>_**two characters, **_**come on! – would be nice. Haha.**

**EDIT: This took so long to go over, dude. Honestly. There's probably a total of twenty words (out of, like, 6000+) that are from the original copy―that's how much I had to change. Euurgh.**

**EDIT EDIT: I just went through this again, and a billion apologies for all the errors. I must've edited this late at night, because only my tired brain could have simultaneously missed and written so many mistakes! I've only redone the end part of the chapter, so there's probably more up-front, but clearly this is an indicator that I really need to go over chapters two or three times before posting. Holy shit, though, that's a grim prospect! **

**And sorry for the delay on posting the edited chapter three―I had an almost-completed edit in my doc manager, but apparently I didn't come on for sixty days or whatever the limit is, because I lost the whole thing. Which sucks major dick. I'm trying super hard not to give up on this project (and swear less―sorry if you're getting offended by my cussing! It's the Scottish blood in me) and to finish it up, so all my apologies to you all that it's taking so long to get up the improved copies of the chapters. I must admit, I'm surprised that all the unedited (or only-edited-once) chapters are still getting good reviews―they're awful! I guess it's just because you're so great :).**

**Lots of love and sorries,**

_**village bicycle**_


	3. FEATHERS

**Just so it's all clear, if it wasn't before – Lissa is **_**not **_**a bitch queen in this. Most of the time, whenever we read the name Lissa we automatically assume something bad is going to happen involving her. That isn't the case for this story, hence why I changed her name to Lissie.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>-FEATHERS-<strong>_

I close my eyes and sigh, rubbing my temples. My pajamas are already on, and I'm just about to head to bed. I'm so tired, it hurts.

I look at the floor, not bothering to pay attention to my surroundings as I head towards my warm, inviting mattress. After all, I know this room like the back of my hand.

I flop down on my bed, only to land on something hard. Almost like a ... person.

'Oof,' they grunt. 'Watch it! Thought you'd at least open your eyes …'

I scream and jump back, hitting the wall. Lying on my bed, his hands calmly cushioning his head from behind, was Nicholas.

My eyes are probably huge in shock, and I know I am white. I grope through my mind for some form of my usual sarcastic wit, but come up with nothing.

'But ...' I gasp. 'But you're not real! You only appear in my dreams!'

'Now, Max,' he says. 'You know that's not true. I was real, once. I was alive. Didn't JJ say I was mentioned in your history class? You saw my grave. You saw how I died.'

'I thought ... I thought I had imagined it.' I sink to the floor. 'I must be imagining, still. I made you up. I had to. Maybe I'm in another dream ...'

'You and I both know that the only dream you have ever had was when you saw us die. You know this is real.'

'It can't be,' I whisper. My voice cracks. 'It can't!'

'It is,' he murmurs. He makes his way over to me, crouching next to where I sit. He is dressed in a black button up shirt and black jeans, his dark hair messy, covering one midnight eye.

'What about Ella?' I sob. Tears start to slide down my cheeks. I hurry to wipe them away – I hate crying. 'If you're here, then where is she? Why are you here? If you're dead ... what about Daffy? Why's she not here?' I bury my face in my hands. 'Help me! This is so confusing, and it hurts, and I'm scared I'm going crazy ... I am crazy!'

He takes my hand, his dark eyes soft and reassuring. Immediately I feel calmer and the tears retreat. Warmth floods through me. 'First,' he says, 'call me Fang. We don't call Daffy ... well, Daffy, we call her Angel.'

'Why?' I ask, genuinely curious.

'When I was five I bit my best friend. He kept saying that my "fangs hurted". The name stuck. You saw him – Ari. Angel is called, well, Angel, because that's what her mother called her, as a sort of nickname. Her mom said that since Daffy would be in God's hands up in Heaven, when they both were dead, that Angel would be a fitting name. Angel says that since she never made it to Heaven, the irony of it is what truly makes it fitting.'

'How come I can see you now when I couldn't see you before?'

His eyes darken. 'That isn't for you to know. Not yet. Now, secondly, I can read and control your mind. Since I have access to all parts of your brain, I can also change your moods, through touch, which is why you feel calmer because I took your hand.'

I blush. 'You can see everything?'

He grins. 'Yup. Every thought, action and memory since you were born.' His smile fades. 'I feel all your pain, as well. I wish I could help, but I can't erase it completely. Pain and love are two of the things I can't control.'

'How come I can see you? How come I dreamt of you and Angel and ... and Ella? How come I heard Angel speak? _How come I can touch you?_'

Fang doesn't seem to mind my questions. He looks at me evenly, saying, 'We are caught in the crossover.'

'The crossover?'

'The place between worlds. A higher power has trapped us. Everything falls down to you now.'

I feel the panic begin to rush through me again. 'I - I can't ... I don't ... h - h - h - how can I ... I need a moment to think.' _God, Max, _I think, _way to freaking stutter._

He stands, then holds out a hand. I look at it questioningly. Fang rolls his eyes. 'I'll help you up?' he says, as if I'm brainless. '… I expected you to be smarter,' he adds in a mutter.

I glare. 'I don't need help getting up. I'm fine.'

'Seriously? Max, you're not fine. Look at yourself.'

Seething, I grind my teeth together. What is it with this guy? 'I _am_. I can get up on my own.' I stumble to my feet and look at him, his face blank. 'Happy now? If you don't mind, since I am successfully standing, I'd like you to leave. Please.'

He chuckles in that irritating way that has become increasingly clear to me. _Jerk_. 'You're very stubborn, you know that?'

I sniff. 'I've been told.'

Fang turns his back and walks over to my bed, lazily plopping himself down on it once more. 'Yeah. Cool, mate.'

I give a shriek of laughter. 'Mate?'

He sighs, idly playing with his fingers. 'Ari always said that. Even though I've been floating in nothingness for nearly one hundred years, it still sticks. I'm trying to get rid of the habit.'

'Fang,' I inquire, coming closer, 'what _is_ the crossover? You know, the _nothingness _that you're talking about.'

He sits up and looks at me solemnly, no humor in his eyes when he tells me, 'Where you go when your life isn't completed. You can't enter the Crystal until you have been saved. I was killed when I was eighteen. I'll be eighteen forever, stuck in the darkness of the crossover, unless you help me. Same goes for Angel and Ella. The Crystal won't allow us in until we are completed – until we are whole once more or gone forevermore.'

I look at him, overwhelmed. _How is this real?_I think. 'How am I supposed to save you?' I ask instead, biting my lip.

He smiles. 'Only time can tell. You have to discover that on your own.'

'What's the Crystal?'

Fang turns his head to look me in the eye. 'The place that most humans call Heaven. There are other names for it too, of course, and nonbelievers.'

'What's it like?'

'Well,' he starts, the corners of his mouth lifting. 'Everything is—'

He stops suddenly, head turning to the right as he leans forward. It is almost as if he is … listening to someone.

'Yeah ... okay,' he says, his expression reluctant. 'Max, I've said too much. I have to go.'

With a small flash of brilliant white light, he is gone.

I sigh and slump to the floor. 'Not even a goodbye,' I mutter bitterly. 'That didn't help in the slightest. Way to screw me up, Fang-man!'

There is a knock on my door. 'Max?' says Iggy. 'You okay in there? Thought I heard … voices.'

'I'm fine,' I say. 'If you can call it that ... I was just talking to myself.' _Like that doesn't make me sound any less crazy ..._

'Nah, I'm good,' I mumble. 'Just think I need some rest or something.'

Iggy comes over to me, taking my hand. 'You know, if it's about Ella, I'm here for you.'

'Yeah. I know. Thanks.'

'Anytime.'

There is silence between us for a while, not uncomfortable, as we both sit on the carpeted floor side by side.

'So, how was school?' asks Iggy, breaking the peaceful quiet.

'Oh, it was okay. You know, new kids, Lissie and Nudge flirting non-stop with said new kids, boring history lesson about war and peace, yet again, assignments sent out that I'll probably forget to do — the usual.'

Ig nods in understanding. 'Yeah. The usual.'

Smiling at him, I ask, 'How's work going for ya?'

He grins back at me. 'Better than I expected. Found out the same guy who founded the company was the one who started up Batchelder College. What was his name? Jebediah Batchelder? Jonathan? I dunno. It's pretty cool though. The boss told me.'

I nod. 'Made any decent friends yet?'

'Well, there's this one chick, Brigid,' he says, giving a lopsy smile. 'She is _the epitome _of hot. Except, she's twenty-four, and I'm only twenty-one. But hey, I'm twenty-two soon enough, so, whatever.'

I roll my eyes. 'Of course you only care about her "hotness". Think you'll have enough money to get into a good college anytime in the near future?'

His smile falters. 'I don't know. Like I said, the pay isn't high. It's a good job, but I'm pretty low in the ranks, and ...'

I pull my brother into a hug. 'It's okay. Mom will give you the money if you just ask. We all know how important college is to you.'

'I know that,' he replies, words muffled against my hair, 'but I can't take her money when we're running low enough as it is. She needs to be able to pay for us, for the family.'

I sigh. 'I hope she can get a job again. I wish that Dad ...'

'I know, Max,' Iggy whispers. 'I know.'

* * *

><p>'Max, come on!' says Nudge. 'Gazzy is already here, and Lissie, and JJ, and Sam, and Lissie brought along her cousin, Tess. Come on, Max, be brave. It's just shopping.'<p>

'Just shopping? Nudge, you know how much I hate shopping,' I say, exasperated. 'Is Dylan there?'

'No,' she replies. 'Lissie wanted him to come, but JJ said he's a jerk. Oh, we invited Tess's boyfriend as well, Nate. He's cute! Please, Max! We all want you to come!'

'No, Nudge,' I respond, 'this is the last time I'll say it. I'm _not going shopping_.'

'Well, too bad, because we're all waiting outside your house already, and Igs says he's going to let us inside in ten, nine, eight ...'

'Fine!' I yell, stomping down the stairs. 'You owe me!'

She laughs, and I hang up the phone, its cracked screen barely able to take much more abuse. Iggy is waiting by the couch, with that cocky grin on his face. 'Go on,' he mocks. 'Have fun shopping!'

I slap him on the arm then walk out, the gang already waiting by my front door. Nudge beams at me. 'You came!' she exclaims. Her face falls considerably at my clothing. 'You're not gonna catch a guy in them, honey.'

I roll my eyes and push past her. 'I look fine. At least I'm not dressed like a stripper from the lesbian bar downtown.'

She gasps and hits me playfully. 'I do not look like a stripper!'

I look her over. High, tight black short skirt, form-fitting white boob-tube, high stiletto heels and too much jewelry, with make-up powdered on her face and her hair straightened. 'Yeah,' I mutter. 'Not a total stripper. Just a slut.'

She pouts. 'Maaaaxxx!' she whines. 'I'm not a slut! I'm just high-fashion.'

I laugh loudly. 'What, my jeans and tank top aren't high-fashion enough for you?'

'Come on, guys,' interrupts Gazzy. 'Stop bickering and hurry up!'

I sigh, running a hand through my dirty-blonde hair. This is going to be one long day.

Soon enough, after a tiresome car ride where Nudge and Lissie wouldn't stop fighting over who the better driver was, we get to the mall, bustling people pushing by all around us. I live close enough that it's a fairly short walk, but still long enough to mess up Nudge's hair – and trust me, she was _not_happy about it.

'Wow, Max,' says JJ. 'You'd look fabulous in this dress.' She takes it out of the rack and holds it up to my chest, Nudge moving around me to get a better look.

'You would!' she gasps, her eyes wide. 'You'd look _fabulous_! Wow, Max! Buy it!'

'I'm not putting that _thing_ on,' I say, 'so don't even try.'

JJ pouts, but puts it back in the rack, the two girls sharing an unhappy glance. 'She _would _look amazing in it …' Nudge whispers. 'Same with this blue one …' I sigh and walk away, not paying them much attention. Gazzy beckons me over, and I make my way to where the three boys are standing.

'I'm hungry,' complains Sam, the corners of his mouth downturned. Nate and Gazzy nod enthusiastically. 'Can we go grab a bite?'

'You can,' says Lissie, overhearing Sam's words, 'but us girls are staying here.'

'I'm not,' I retort, hurrying over to the boys. 'Have fun, ladies!'

Tess and Lissie glare at me—a funny sight, seeing as they both have the exact same eyes and noses. They say the traits came from their grandmother.

'Fine!' shouts Tess at my retreating back. 'I'm taking away your womanhood, officially!'

Sam snickers. 'That can be taken in a completely different way.'

'Ew, you sexist pig,' I say, my face disgusted. Gazzy snorts.

'Sam's right though,' he says, smiling broadly. 'Totally wrong.' His eyes drift off.

I really don't want to know what he was thinking.

I slap them both, not _too_hard (well, let's hope not) and stalk ahead of the three guys, unwilling to listen to their sexist talk.

'That one is _so _a ten!' exclaims Nate, pointing to a blonde, spray tanned girl up ahead.

'Nah, a nine,' rates Sam. 'What say you, Gaz?'

'Six,' Gazzy says, shrugging dismissively. 'She's _way_ too fake. I prefer brunettes, anyway.'

Nate laughs. 'Ooh, like Nudgey?'

I can practically hear Gazzy's glare.

We walk onwards, the delicious scent of the crowded food court drifting towards us on the wind. I close my eyes, my stomach rumbling in hunger. I quicken my pace and lift my eyelids.

I try not to yelp.

_What are you doing here?_ I ask Fang, who is calmly walking backwards in front of me. I watch in horror as people pass right through him, as if he isn't even there. Which, to be honest … _he isn't_. I don't bring it up to him, though. I don't pay it much attention. _I must be insane. I must be. _

In all reality, I had been hoping I wouldn't see him again; I was confused enough the last time.

'Just dropping in to say hello. You know, grab something to eat,' he replies. He moves to come and stroll relaxedly next to me, his hands in his pockets and his feet without any shoes.

Just then, Gazzy speeds ahead of the others and runs to get next to me, going straight through Fang.

I scream. Everyone around us stops to stare at me as I raise my hands to my temples. _You ... he just went through you! Didn't you feel that? Oh my God, I need some help. I'm insane._

He half-smiles and continues to walk. I follow his lead, taking deep breaths and thinking to myself, _You're fine. Everything is fine. You aren't crazy. You're perfectly sane. You are Maximum Grace Martinez, sixteen years of age, and you're fine. _I repeat these words over and over in my head until they are burned into my memory, calming me down. As long as I know who I am, I'm still sane. Or, at least, that's what I tell myself.

Gradually the hustle and bustle in the mall restarts and resumes its usual activities, Gazzy, Nate and Sam trailing behind me once more.

'You know, Max,' says Fang, 'try not to scream next time. You're not crazy. But you probably sure look it to those douche-balls.' He chuckles, seeming to find it hilarious.

I ignore him, turning to the three boys. 'Uh, guys? I need some air ... sorry,' I say, wringing my hands together anxiously, 'I'll be back in a bit, just ...' I run off, my Converses squeaking on the white linoleum floor. Nate, Sam and Gazzy stare at my retreating back.

'What's with her today?' I hear Gazzy say, before they are all out of earshot.

I get outside and lean against the vandalized wall, ignoring the trashy graffiti behind me and the littered cigarettes at my feet.

'Max,' Fang mutters, appearing in front of me. 'It's okay.'

'Why can I see you?' I whisper. 'No one else can ... I'm crazy. I'm crazy,' I repeat, panicked. '... Help me, someone!' I call, looking frantically around. Nobody gives me a second glance, except for a young boy passing by. He cocks his head, his light blonde hair falling over his face, not knowing what's going on. His mother looks up at me, then turns her son's head away, avoiding my eyes.

'Don't look at her,' mutters the mother. 'She'll hurt you. She's crazy.'

I slide to the floor. '_WHAT'S HAPPENING TO ME?_' I scream, my hands coming up to pull my mess of blonde hair. Fang just looks at me from where he stands, not showing anything in his expression but blankness. That same infuriating _blankness_.

I stand, too angry and upset and confused and – well, just plain _freaked _to look at Fang, and break into a run, leaving the car park behind me. My feet hammer down on the sidewalk. I am not heading home—in fact, I'm going in the complete opposite direction.

Reaching the woods, only four hundred feet from the mall (_How is it so _normal_ there? _I wonder. It hardly seems possible considering all that has happened to me, how my life has changed, in the past twenty-four hours), I swiftly swerve through each turn between the trees. Sharp branches tear through my shirt and jeans as they catch on the fabric, the tatters hanging from the tips of them as I sprint on. I scream as loudly as I possibly can when I feel a tearing on my back, my skin breaking open gruesomely, hot blood streaming down my burning flesh, under the rim of my jeans. I can _hear _the skin on my back ripping.

I collapse to the ground, writhing in pain. I fight back the tears, and struggle to stand. '_SOMEBODY!_' I cry. '_ANYBODY! HELP ME!_'

But there is no one but the chirping birds in the leafy canopy above.

I fall to the floor once more as the tearing intensifies. I can feel the sticky wetness of blood as it trickles down my back. I can see the crimson liquid flowing down the backs of my legs and pooling beneath me. My jeans and shirt torn, fabric tatters hanging everywhere.

All I can hear now is my heart beating. Not even the sound of my screams make their way to me.

After a while – minutes, hours, days? I don't know – has passed, the pain fades. My body is stiff, my jaw numb from all my crying out beforehand. It is dark now, and I can hear the eerie hooting of owls.

I get shakily to my feet. 'Somebody,' I whisper. 'Help me.' I am dizzy from loss of blood, and my back aches. I raise my hand up to see if I can feel the torn skin, only to feel something soft.

_Huh?_

I try to twist my head to get a view of the softness on my back, but I see nothing.

'I'll help you,' says a girl's voice. That _girl_ from before.

'I don't need help,' I growl. _I don't want to talk to any dead people right now_. 'I'm fine.'

'Just let me help you,' she says. And then she comes into view.

She is just how she appeared in my dream. Curly blonde hair to her shoulders, big blue eyes, pale skin. Innocence, yet a knowledge far too mature for her years. She wears a white, floor length dress that flows out at the bottom. She smiles at me sweetly.

'D-D-Daffy?' I stutter, looking at her in disbelief. And I thought Fang was enough ...

She laughs, tossing her head back, her golden curls bouncing. 'I thought Fang told you to call me Angel?' she grins. 'Nobody's called me _Daffy _for years. Anyway, I'm helping you.'

I grimace. 'I don't know what's going on. What's happening to my back?'

'There's certain prices to be paid, Max,' she says, the laughter dying from her eyes. 'You're special. You can see us because we are caught in the crossover, as Fang has already said. You were chosen the day your sister died. There will be pain, and you may lose many things in your everyday life. But it is all for the greater good.'

Suddenly a burst of pain comes from my back. I fall to my knees, my eyes squeezed shut and my fists clenched. 'This is too much,' I whisper.

I feel her gently touch somewhere not too far from my back. It seems to be connected to me ... _huh?_

Angel pulls lightly on it until it is fully extended. I look to my right, then to my left, and try to stifle my scream.

_Wings_.

_Freaking full-length wings._

_Attached to my body._

_What. The. _

_Hawk wings._

_Everybody, I'm Maximum Martinez, and I have giant motherfucking hawk wings attached to my back!_

'Yeah, that sounds normal. I have wings on my back,' I mutter to myself. 'Goodbye, Nudge's tight dresses …'

Running my fingers over the soft feathers closest to me, I realise … the wings … they make me feel almost ... _angelic. _

'I'm a freak,' I breathe. 'What ...'

'It's okay,' says Angel. 'Everything is.' She sits on the ground in front of me, tilting her head to the side. 'You will be okay. But you can't tell anyone this. Not Iggy, or your mom, or your dad. Or your teddy. Because we know you have a teddy. Ella told us. Mr Sniggles. Yeah, we know.'

I stare at her, astounded. My brain can't even comprehend what's going on. And … _ELLA TOLD THEM ABOUT MR SNIGGLES!_

That little …

'You know,' Angel says, giving me a pointed look. _Woops,_ I think. _Little girl can read minds_. She sighs, 'Gazzy's my brother.'

I am shaken out of my daze by her words. 'Gazzy's your – wait, what?'

'He was only one year old when I died. The only mother he has ever known is Anne, my dad's new wife. We share the same real mom, though. Sometimes, when he was little, my dad told him stories about me. He never mentioned Mom, though. Gazzy asks, but Dad refuses to say anything. I wish I could reach out to them. That they could hear me, see me, _touch _me one more time. But I can't.'

'Oh, Angel,' I gasp, shocked. _That's so .._. 'That's so sad!'

She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. The baby-blue orbs are glittering with pent-up sadness. 'It's okay,' she says quietly. 'I'm happy that Dad moved on, and I'm happy that my family is okay. Dylan is also my brother. He was three when I died, and only remembers me a little. He doesn't ask about me as much, though. Whenever people ask about me, though, Dad calls me his "Little Daffodil". I miss them. But it's okay.'

I reach out to take her hand. She shuts her eyes, taking deep breaths. 'Did your father have any other children with Anne?' I ask softly, not wanting to press her too much.

'Yes,' she says, smiling now. 'Twins. Two girls. He called them Daffy and Angelica. They're eleven.'

'That's so sweet, Angel,' I reply. 'I'm happy for him too.'

Her smile falters. 'Gazzy has been starting to wonder about me more. He doesn't know how I died. Dad just says that there was a terrible accident, where both me and Mom died. But Gazzy knows there's more to it.'

I nod. 'Poor—'

'Angel,' interrupts Fang, appearing next to us. He takes me by surprise, and I jump – which he smirks at. _Jerk_. 'You have better things to be doing.' He sneers at me. _Jerk_.

She sighs. 'I know, but I thought _she _should know. It only makes sense, if … well, you know.'

Fang looks at me. I find myself captivated by his midnight eyes, the tiny gold flecks glittering in the sunlight that streams through the leaves above and hits his olive-skinned face at a perfect angle. It is as if his eyes are the night sky, an endless dark expanse filled with shimmering stars. 'She has bigger purposes,' he says monotonously. I blush. _Jerk can read minds as well, Max, you idiot! _I remind myself.

'I know, Fang,' she responds, a little harshly. 'I get it. But when you're stuck where we are, you need _someone _to talk to. I thought you, of all people, would understand that.'

They both stand. He bends down to hoist me up as well.

'I could've done it myself,' I grumble, glowering at him. He ignores me.

'Max,' he says. His eyes are staring into mine, and it feels as if he can see every part of me, inside and out. I feel … exposed.

'Max,' he repeats. 'Take my hand.'

I look at him in confusion. 'Uh, what? I'm sorry, Fangy-boy, we are _not _in Aladdin, and I will not ride your magic carpet.'

I look at Fang. He just stands there, hand held out. Sighing in reluctance, I give in and take it, its warmth seeping through me and flooding a deep happiness throughout my body. _Stupid mood controlling jerk ..._ I think to myself.

Fang squeezes my hand.

Immediately, I find myself swept into darkness.

The last thing I think before my senses spiral out of control is,

_Bitch told them about Mr Sniggles._

* * *

><p><em><strong>There's a bunch of screaming boys outside and I'm really scared.<strong>_

_**0.o**_

_**-J**_


	4. Ella, The Musical

_**Hello, dearest readers! **_

_**Forgive me – I know it's been forever. I feel horrible. Just don't kill me, okay?**_

_**Shout out to **_**Kina Kalamari**_** for her plain awesomeness and her acceptance of my fat cat :')**_

_**Also, I have another story up, called **_**Focus on the Shadows. **_**It is not centred around the real flock, but if you like my writing, go check it out, kay? **_

* * *

><p><em><strong>- SUPER BASS -<strong>___

I scream and thrash around wildly, hoping to find some way out of the blackness enveloping me, but there is nothing.

Nothing but the deepest darkness in all of time.

I squeeze my eyes shut, then open them again, but still I see nothing. Raising my hand up to my face, I cannot even see an outline.

Just black.

I'm not standing, or lying down, or sitting. It's almost as if I am floating. The air is thick, like pudding. Moving my hand through it slowly, I marvel. It is so different from Earth—

I'm not on Earth.

I can't be.

I'm somewhere else entirely, lost between reality and illusion, between life and death.

Life and death.

'Fang?' I call. My voice still works, to my relief, but the sounds are muffled, almost as if I am hiding under a thick blanket.

'Max,' I hear a voice say. It is neither Fang's or Angel's, and doesn't help reassure me in the least. 'Max,' it repeats.

'Who's there? What do you want?' I yell, desperately attempting to find something, _anything, _in this nothingness.

In the distance, I see a faded glow of white. It comes nearer, nearer, gradually coming so close I can make out the shape of a figure. A woman.

Her white hair is flowing out around her head delicately, like a halo. She looks as if she is suspended underwater, but that is not so. I can't see what she is wearing—it is masked by the harsh white glow coming from her body. Her eyes are completely white; no irises, no pupils, nothing.

'Who are you?' I gasp, staring at her in awe.

'The Keeper,' she says. Her voice is like a whisper, floating on the breeze. Gentle. 'The Keeper between worlds. I hold the key to the Crystal, to the Flames, to Life, and to Death. You are in the crossover. The place for lost souls. Yet, you are still alive. It is odd. What has Fang gotten himself into this time?'

She stops speaking, gazing off somewhere behind my head. 'Uh, keepie lady?' I say, breaking her out of her peace. 'Mind telling me what's going on here? Fang didn't really ask before sending me off to some dead people zone ...'

'Dead people zone?' interjects the now familiar male voice. 'Pfft. Stubborn, arrogant _and _a killjoy. You know, we thought we were still alive, in a sense, until you come along, destroying our hopes and dreams, and —'

'Fang!' calls the Keeper. Her voice stops him in his tracks, yet it is just as quiet as it was before. She doesn't raise a finger, but he is at her disposal.

I look around for him, but he is nowhere to be seen. 'Fang?' I say into the blackness. 'Fang, where are you?'

'Right behind you,' he whispers. I struggle to turn through the thick air; once I have, I find myself face to face with him. Blushing at the close proximity, I look down, only to be shocked out of words.

I am wearing a long, flowing white dress, almost bridal, but, at the same time, not at all fit for a wedding … it is the first time I have worn a dress since we lost Ella. My bare feet are clean, hanging above Fang's, who is floating low enough so that our heads are at the same level. My arms are bare.

'What ...' I trail off, then look at him inquisitively. 'What's going on?'

'Max,' he says, 'I took you here so you can see for yourself what this place is. Help you understand more. All of this — me, Angel, the Keeper, the crossover — is entirely real. I need you to see that.'

'I don't understand,' I breathe. 'How am I supposed to save you? I don't know how. I don't know what to do ...'

His finger intentionally brushes against my own; I close my eyes as gentle warmth floods through me, the result of his ability to soothe the emotions. 'You'll understand soon enough, Max. For now, you stand alone.'

With that he disappears, leaving only the same empty darkness in his wake. 'Goodbye,' I whisper after him, knowing that he can't hear.

I turn back to the Keeper. 'What is it you want from me?'

She looks me searchingly. 'You are almost ready. But not yet.'

'Ready for what? Jeez, crazy lady, care to elaborate?'

The Keeper sighs. 'Fang might be difficult,' she says, almost to herself. 'Max will make things harder than they could be.' I frown. 'Angel shouldn't be, but her history ... _Fang's _history ... I don't know about Ella —'

'I'm right here, keepie!' I yell, waving my hands in the air; it's getting easier to move about the longer I remain in this abyss. 'Now tell me what the hay is happening.'

'You'll need to save them, all of them,' she says, to me this time. 'One will come back into the living realm. The other two will proceed through the Gates, into whatever place the Almighty has decided for them. It is your decision. Each died an unjust death, and your job is to give them what they never had, what they need. Many others have died deaths just as bad, but they were never as stubborn. These three fought against the Almighty when he took their living bodies. Every part of them rebelled against Death. And now you must bring them acceptance, and more ...'

'How can I ...?'

'All three need love. Just pure love. It is all that is needed for their souls to accept what has happened and move on, entering the Crystal. Unless, of course, fate has other plans, and they enter the Flames. But that is an entirely different matter. For each, different affections must be shown. This is for you to figure out on your own.' **(AN: haha, rhyme!)**

I nod, slowly grasping this overwhelmingly large concept. 'Angel said there are prices to be paid.'

'The wings, for one. They are both a blessing and a curse. They will allow you to enter the crossover, once you learn how, and to fly freely. But you will need to hide them from human eyes. No one else can know. And they can be painful. Luckily, you have the ability to hide them, but the first time you do this may be agonizing. Another thing ...'

'Yes?' I say, looking at her expectantly.

'If you fail, you will die.'

…

'Die? What do you mean, die?' I shriek.

'If they don't accept it in enough time, if they still refuse to move on after all your efforts, you will die. It will be harder to help one than the other two, and harder to give your affections to another. But it will all work out. Should.'

Frantically, I look up at her, but don't speak. Death? That's what I was facing here? I know that if I leave the living, the Martinez family will fall into ruins. Disrepair.

'How come Fang and Angel talk to me, see me, _touch_ me, back in the human world?' I ask, deciding not to voice my fears.

'No one wants to be stuck in nothingness forever,' replies the Keeper. 'Not even them. We allow them access to the living world, but they cannot be seen, heard or felt to any ordinary human. Of course, you are not ordinary.'

'What about ... Ella?'

'Same goes for her, only she understands that you are not yet ready to see her. Not quite yet.'

I pout in disappointment, looking down into the darkness below.

'What would happen to me?' I wonder, my head rising up again. The idea has just come to me. 'You know, would I be stuck in the crossover or not? Can you tell?'

'You ... are difficult,' says the Keeper, her voice still as soft as a warm summers breeze. 'Your path remains unclear. Of course, your brother is stubborn, and may fight. And if _you_ do, who knows what it'll take you to finally move on. Your mother and father, however ...'

'What about them?' I ask quickly.

'Valencia, your mother, is more willing, and being a very religious and respectful lady, should pass straight through to the Crystal. Jason has close to no willpower in him, and will pass through without a fight, unless his his questionable sanity prevents that and he fights Death. His time is soon. The lung cancer will take him from us — unfortunate, especially so soon after Ella's loss. He is weak.'

Tears are already starting to leak out of my eyes. Dad? My Daddy? Gone? No. It can't be. It can't be true. I'll find someway to save him; I _have_ to. I can't lose him, not so soon.

And how will Mom cope? It's been hard enough on her, especially as she doesn't allow anyone to see how she is really feeling. She thinks that the only things of true importance anymore are keeping Igs and I happy and healthy, and caring for Dad. This, though ... this'll break her.

'Max, we're here for you,' says Angel. I don't even start when she appears in front of me — I guess the surprise effect grows old, after a while. 'We'll help.'

'That won't be enough,' I whisper, shaking my head. 'Mom won't even be able to see you. It'll be too hard for all of us, especially Iggy — he's the one who think the responsibility lies on him.'

The Keeper looked at me, her face firm but her eyes sympathetic. 'There is nothing we can do, Max.'

'Then get me out of here!' I scream, suddenly furious. 'You just show up, expecting me to help these people, expecting me to happily watch my father die, and you don't even _think_ about what I want! I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS! I don't want to risk my life, I don't want to hurt Mom, or Iggy, or lose my dad. Just stay away from me! I don't need this!'

Totally unfazed by my outburst, the Keeper gazes calmly at me. 'You have no choice. Once chosen, you cannot go back.'

'Just ... just get me out of here,' I mutter bitterly, my anger deflating, replaced by reluctant acceptance.

She quirks an eyebrow. 'As you wish. But when it is time, you must return.'

'Yeah, well,' I say, playing with my fingers, 'don't get your hopes up.'

'Goodbye, Maximum Martinez. We hope to be seeing you soon ... oh, yes.'

With a great whoosh, feeling like my whole body is shrinking into itself, the blackness disappears to be replaced with a blindingly painful white light that goes straight through to my eyes no matter how hard I squeeze them shut. And then I'm back in the forest, blood on my back, coating the starts of my new wings.

I raise a hand up to my face, where I could still feel tears. Wiping them away hurriedly, I get to my feet and try to stretch them out, alone in the damp forest as a cold breeze rushes through the trees, ruffling my hair and tossing my feathers.

At first, the sensation of my wing muscles stretching is so agonizing I fall to the leafy ground, my eyed screwed shut and my hands balled into tight fists. But, being me, I get to my feet and dust myself off, before trying again. It is still excruciating, doubtless, but it has lessened, enough so that I don't collapse.

Taking several deep breaths, I tried again. The pain is starting to fade, and the feeling of my muscles slowly stretching themselves out brings me dizzy pleasure. I close my eyes and flap them slowly, causing the air to rush around them as they move up and down.

'Do you want to learn how to fly?'

My hair whipping about my head, I spin on my heel, my face murderous and my heart racing, but calm as I realise it was just Angel, Fang standing beside her.

'Do you want to learn how to fly?' she repeats, her eyes filled with — well, angelic, sweetness.

'Fly? I won't be able to fly. This is enough to take in as it is, anyway. Don't really want to fly. When can I see Ella?'

'Soon,' Fang huffs impatiently. 'And don't lie, Max. You suck at it. It's quite clear that Blondie here wants to learn how to fly.'

'Don't call me Blondie!' I snarl, at the same time as Angel shrieks, 'I'm blonde too! Does that make me Blondie?'

Rolling his obsidian eyes and taking a slow step closer, Fang says, 'Honestly, it was a joke. No, Ange, you are not Blondie. That's just Max, because she's actually an idiot.'

'Hey!' I yell. 'That is not true! If you want me to help you, stop freaking insulting me, okay?'

'Whatever, Max,' sighs Fang. I glare at him, seething in anger. He's so freaking frustrating!

'What happened to the sweetness from the crossover?' I growl. 'Angel, I'd rather it'd be you who teaches me.'

'Okay, then!' she says happily. Fang watches impassively.

'You can leave, emo boy,' I say, shooting him a quick look. With a flash, he is, indeed, gone. I ignore the tiny bit of disappointment nagging at me.

'Now, Angel,' I say. 'Teach me how to fly.'

* * *

><p>I am soaring, hundreds of feet above the ground, only dots visible amid seas of green. There is the ocean, up ahead, the water glistening with the reflection of the glorious sunshine.<p>

Wings flapping in leisurely slowness, I fly on, sighing in contented happiness. I'm flying! Truly flying! It had taken a while — I don't seem to be a fast learner — but eventually I got it, to Angel's glee. She had flown, wingless, beside me for a while before saying she should probably go, and, with another flash identical to Fang's previously, disappeared.

For hours now, I have been flying on my own, paying no attention to the strain on my wings as time passes.

Reluctantly, I decide it's time to land. I fly on for just a little while longer, the sun setting below the horizon. Glittering lights dance up ahead; a lively city.

I veer towards it, eyes set determinedly on the tall buildings shining with multicoloured lights. As I draw closer, I can make out the shapes of thousands of glistening cars racing by one another on the smooth asphalt streets of the city.

New York.

A grin grows on my face, my cheeks red from the wind and my hair a wild mess, and spot a secluded spot that would be good to land in.

My first landing goes pretty well, actually. It isn't as hard as I expect, and I actually land — well, semi-gracefully. Of course, it isn't totally beautiful, with a quick stumble coming with it, but the fact that nobody sees is the good thing.

I walk out of the dark, shadowy alley, onto the glowing streets of New York City, the lights dancing across my face as I stand marvelling the stunning beauty of the man-made city.

How, I wonder, could anybody create something so magnificent? It is only as I spot a giant clock above a gigantic television on the side of a skyscraper that I gasp, knowing my mother would be in the middle of a mass freak out. I have been gone for nine hours, without even alerting her to my departure.

There is a phone box nearby, with only two others in the line-up, their heels tapping in mostly-silent impatience as they wait for the overweight, moustached, furiously chattering man to exit the box.

Finally, after what feels like years, it is my turn to use the phone. I fish around in my pockets for a coin, then, finding one, slip it into the coinslot.

_0 …_ I dial the first number, then the second, then the third and the fourth and the fifth, until the whole mobile number is typed and the plastic red phone, its curling cord twirled around my finger, begins to ring.

'Hello?' answers an anxious voice from the other end of the line.

'Iggy!' I exclaim. 'I'm sorry, I've been out for ages ... I'll be home soon, really, I'm just a fair bit away.'

'Where are you?' he demands, worry laced within his words. 'We've searched everywhere — Mom's frantic!'

'Um ...' I mutter, my nails digging into the phonecord, 'I _might_ be in New York City ...'

'NEW YORK?' he roars, the cheap phone shaking with the volume of his furious voice. 'HOW THE BLOODY HELL DID YOU GET YOURSELF TO NEW YORK? FLY THERE?'

'Funny about that ...' I mutter. He doesn't hear. 'I don't really know. I passed out at a, uh, party, and woke up here. Weird, huh? I'll be home as soon as I can, though –'

'YOU BETTER BE, MAXIMUM GRACE MARTINEZ!' he booms. 'AND WHEN YOU GET BACK INTO THIS FREAKING HOUSE, I WILL DECAPITATE YOU MYSELF! No hard feelings, of course,' he assures, after his screaming is over.

'Yeah,' I say. 'Um, bye, Igs. Tell Mom I'm okay, will you?'

'You won't be,' he growls. The phone beeps, once, twice, three times ... he's hung up.

'Rude,' I say to myself, a few people casting me strange looks as they walked past, and left the telephone box, looking side to side. 'Where to now?'

'Well, you can just come with me.'

I turn quickly, giving an angry glare at Fang. 'Will you stop doing that?'

'What, breathing?' he says sarcastically. I ignore him, and hear him sigh. 'Now, do you want to get home now or fly until tomorrow morning?'

I mimic his sigh. When he puts it that way, there really doesn't seem to be a choice. 'I'll go with you. But how can you take me?'

He taps the side of his nose. 'Ah, tricks of the trade ...' At my irritated look, he adds, 'Honestly, haven't you realised I can appear and disappear in random places? I can do that with you too, but you have to hold onto me.'

'Hold onto you ... how?' I ask weakly, hearing a man say quietly to his wife, 'She's a lunatic, tha' one. Talkin' to 'erself ... oh, tha' ain't nah good look, tha' ain't. May-bee we should call the asylum?'

'Nah, nah, 'oward, tha' won' do,' his wife replies. Howard looks at her in dejection. 'Nah, nah,' she repeats. 'May-bee we should jus' leave crazy girlie alone? Should'n' in'errup' 'er privacy, eh, 'usband?'

'Good poin', Geraldine,' says Howard. 'Le's jus' leave 'er be. Don' bovver crazy girlies, nah.'

Fang snorts. 'Maxie-poo is a crazy girlie! Aw, tha' ain't nah good idea, tah leave crazy girlie alone, eh, 'usband?'

I glare at him furiously. 'Shut up! They can't see you. You shouldn't even have stayed around. You should've died properly when you were supposed to.'

His eyes glimmer with hurt and anger for a mere second before the emotions disappear, replaced with a hard, cold look. 'Hurry up and take my hand, so we can go,' he says monotonously.

Biting my lip, knowing my words were harsh, I say, 'Sorry.'

'Just take my hand,' he commands. I do as he says, and with another whoosh we have left New York, the sensation similar to that of which I felt when I left the crossover, and appear in my front garden.

'Thanks,' I murmur. 'And I lash out when I'm pissed, sorry. Honestly.'

Silence.

'Fang, really,' I say hopelessly. 'I'm sorry. It takes a lot to make me say that, let me tell you.'

There was a few more seconds of tense silence before he says quietly, 'Do you know what it feels like to die?'

'No, of course not —'

'It isn't easy, Max. It hurts. You can feel yourself being torn from your real body. You watch on as your friends and family scream. And, when you're stuck in the crossover, you have to watch as more and more sad, desolate souls enter and exit. Don't say anything like that again, or I won't let you help me, and we'll see how _you_ like it dead.'

I shiver at his icy words, but say nothing. He steps closer, our bodies less than an inch apart.

'But I don't want to see you die,' he whispers. 'It would kill me all over again.'

Confused, I just stare at him, but his blank mask, with its black eyes that show just the tiniest flecks of gold if you peer closely, disappears as he leaves in that funny way he can, with the sucking whoosh and the bright flash.

'Max!'

I am shaken out of my puzzled stupor by my mother, who rushes out of the front door, light from inside streaming onto the porch behind her, and throws herself onto me in a panicky hug.

'Max, dear, I thought you had gotten seriously hurt! Oh, and then Iggy said you were in New York, of all places ... however did you get back so quickly, dear?'

My mind brainstorming, I desperately think of a back story. 'I, um, said I _was_ in New York. When I called, I was just outside Juntley. And you must've lost track of time, but I really called about twenty minutes ago.'

Mom seems satisfied with the story, grabbing my hand and pulling me into the house, radiating warmth. 'Are you cold?' she presses. 'Oh ... Iggy! Get your sister a hot chocolate, will you?' she shouts.

'What? She's back? Already? That makes no sense! But then again, nothing she ever does _does_ ...' he says to himself. 'Ugh, fine. Max, you owe me!' We can hear Iggy bustling about in the kitchen.

'Honey, are you tired?' continues Mom, ignoring Iggy's grumbling. 'Come on, then, let's head up to bed ... Ig can bring you your drink up there, can't he? CAN'T YOU, IGGY?'

'Yes, Mom!' he shouts back.

I laugh lightly. 'Mom, it's okay,' I say gently. 'Honestly, I'm fine.'

'Just go to bed anyway, I'm sure you'll fall asleep in an instant,' Mom pressured.

'Oh, fine,' I sigh, giving in. Mom-power these days ...

She pushes me up the steps, waiting ever so _patiently_ as I stoop to tie my shoelace. 'Hurry up, you!' she says, her hands wringing. 'Come on, come on ...' She continues to bustle me up the stairs.

'Wow, Mom, what's the rush?' I say, shooting her a curious look.

' ...' she says quickly, eyes wide.

'Okay ...' I say, freaked, and walk to my room ahead of her. She decides to tuck me in before leaving, still crazy from worry. Iggy enters a few minutes later, a steaming cup of hot chocolate in his hand.

'Ow, ow, ow,' he hisses, sighing in relief when he releases it on my bedside table. 'Now drink up, Princess Jasmine.'

'Jasmine? Why'm I Jasmine now?'

'You know, Aladdin? Princess Jasmine? She's the best one, in my opinion.'

'Really? I love Jasmine, but I must say, I'm a fan of Aurora, too ... and honestly, my favorite movie of all time has got to be the Lion King.'

'The Lion King? Hm. Mine's probably ... nah, I don't know. Anyway, Jasmine,' he continues, 'drink up, or I'll have it myself.'

I quickly gulp the hot drink down, smiling at the burning sensation coursing down my body. 'It's great, Igs. Now leave. I'm tired.'

_'Please,_ Iggy, _please_ leave! But I'll always love you!' he says sarcastically in a squeaky, high-pitched voice.

'Yeah, yeah,' I sigh, rolling my eyes. 'Goodnight.'

'Night, baby sis,' he says, grinning at me before exiting. I float off to sleep almost immediately, but I swear I hear a voice whispering something in my ear before I drift off.

_'Night, sis. Next time, just give me the earbud willingly.'_

And then I am asleep, the words immediately forgotten.

* * *

><p>I wake with a start, morning sunshine piercing through my eyelids. There is an uncomfortable bulge under my pillow; I check, only to discover I was sleeping on my empty cup from last night, a thin line of excess cocoa running from the rim to the bottom, where it has gathered.<p>

'Maxie! Wake the hell up!'

'Don't say hell, Iggy,' sighs Mom.

'Fine. Maxie! Wake the haystacks up!'

'Haystacks?' I groan out. 'Is that the best you can do? Horses.'

'Hornets.'

'Hullaballoo.'

'Herpes.'

'Heroes.'

'Heroin.'

'Heap.'

'Hot.'

'Heavy.'

'Homosexual.'

'What's with the inappropriate words, Iggy?'

'They're the best "H" words in the dictionary. Horace.'

'No.'

'No? Why no?'

'Because ... because no. Now if you don't mind, I would like to get ready for school.'

Iggy gives a heaving, sarcastic sigh. 'Yes, yes, Maxie! School is more important than I, poor, sweet, loving Iggy —'

I throw a pillow at the door, causing it to bang loudly, Iggy shrieking and running away. I shrug. Wimp.

Homework littered on the floor, I dress in today's clothes: a black leather jacket, dark blue jeans, black combat boots and a navy blue tank top, my hair down and knotty; I can't be bothered shoving a comb through it after I wake.

Sneaking a glimpse at my clock, I gasp as I realize the time. I desperately throw everything into my grey backpack before sprinting out the door, my car keys in my hand. I can't walk today — it is only three minutes until school starts.

'Bye Mom! Bye Iggy!' I shout, waving quickly to my brother, who was busily cleaning up spilt juice in the kitchen. I can't see whether or not he waves back, already out the door.

Well over the limit, I speed to school, most of the students already inside. My feet thumping on the ground, I make my way inside and hurry to my first class, where Lissie has saved me a spot. I cannot help but be disappointed when I don't see Fang.

_'I said, excuse me you're a hell of a guy, you're like my, my, my, my like pelican fly; I mean, you're so shy and I'm lovin' your tie; you're like slicker than the guy with the thing on his eye, oh!' _Lissie is belting, waving to me from where she sits and patting the vacant seat. I plop myself down on the cheap plastic chair, ignoring her loud singing.

_'Yes I did, yes I did! Will somebody please tell 'em who the eff I is?' _

I roll my eyes. She always sings. _Al-ways._

_'... I mack them dudes up, back coupes up and chuck the deuce up!'_

The two front legs of my chair raise themselves off of the ground as I lean back.

_'... beatin' like a drum and it's comin' your way!'_

A heavy sigh escapes my lips. When will class start?

My ears tune out of Lissie's song for a little while, until her voice grows in volume.

_'EXCUSE ME, YOU'RE A HELL OF A GUY; YOU KNOW I REALLY GOT A THING FOR AMERICAN GUYS, I MEAN, SIGH; SICKENIN' EYES! I CAN TELL THAT YOU'RE IN TOUCH WITH YOUR FEMININE SIDE, OH! YES I DID, YES I DID ...'  
><em>

'Alerissa Dreme. Quiet,' says Ms Bull, entering the room with her glasses pushed up her crooked nose and her mouth still in that grim line that has been there since the day I met her.

_Finally, quiet!_ I relax, paying no attention to the lesson. I don't even pay very much notice to the ache of my back, where my wings are tightly tucked in. They aren't even visible when I'm wearing a shirt; the feathers are so light, they mould perfectly against my back and can't be seen at all through fabric.

Time passes ever so slowly, and soon enough I find myself seated in the cafeteria, barely registering how I arrived there.

There is a conversation taking place to my right; I turn, and start to actually listen to it.

'Lissie, please, you have GOT to say yes. It's obvious he likes you. Don't lie to me. Chris likes you, Liss!'

'He doesn't.'

'He does!' Nudge insists, turning to me with a frustrated expression. 'He does like her, doesn't he, Max?'

'Yeah, yeah ...' I mumble, not-so-convincingly. Nudge casts me an irritated glance, but I ignore her. So ... tired ... why can't I just go to bed?

'Max, you look as if you're about to go to sleep,' comments Lissie, looking strangely at me. 'You okay?'

'I'm fine,' I mutter. A headache is coming on, and I _do _feel a little bit sick, though ...

'Max, you look as if you're about to puke!' exclaims JJ, alarmed. 'Come on, let's get you to the nurse ...' She grabs my arm and hauls me out of my seat. I sway dizzily, quickly towed away from the full cafeteria.

'Nurse Whitlock!' she says, beckoning a lady over. I barely recognise her. 'Nurse Whitlock, Max is sick ...'

'Oh, no,' says Whitlock, placing a cool hand on my forehead. 'Ooh, she's burning up. Let's take you into the sickroom, shall we, dear? Jennifer, dear, run along, now.'

JJ gives me a sympathetic glance before walking briskly back towards the cafeteria as I am taken to a room where I can see a small cot. Whitlock pushes me down and I sit, looking up at her through cloudy eyes.

'Hm ... yes, you may need to rest, dear ...'

Her words seem to be floating away. It is as if I am reaching out to catch them, but they just sit there, out of the distance ... I can't understand what she's saying.

Confused, my brow wrinkles. But then — what is this? Darkness? I feel as if I am sleeping. One moment ago, though, I was in the sickroom!

Oh, wait a second.

Damn. I was hoping I wouldn't pass out today.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Haha :)<br>**_

_**Yes, I do know that the whole appear and disappear thing that Fang and Angel've got going on is a lot like Apparition. I only realized that just then, while editing it. Ahem. AND, the headache will be explained more in the next chapter. It isn't just random sickness, hehe. **_

_**Also, quickly, I would like to say something.  
><strong>_

_**In my stories, I am now going to continue GRAHAM CRACKERS:  
><strong>_

_**Quote: 'If you find any grammar errors in stories, whether it's on FanFiction or FictionPress, call it a Graham Cracker. Spread the word! GRAHAM CRACKER MEANS GRAMMAR ERROR.'  
><strong>_

_**This has been invented by **_**Sararuhh77**_**, and she takes full credit for it. Spread it, everyone! And now we can ACTUALLY get some constructive criticism! And I'm expecting a graham cracker in a review!**_

So long!

_**J**_


	5. Fairy Dresses, Drugs and Single Ladies

_**BGS C4**_

_**HELLO, WORLD! BE PREPARED FOR ANOTHER CHAPTER! Hehe ...**_

**-FAIRY DRESSES, DRUGS AND SINGLE LADIES-**

* * *

><p><em>Sigh. <em>

How boring can life get?

When you're me, just sitting on the floor in your bedroom, not wanting to go into bed but not knowing what else to do, stuck home from school because of 'sickness' that has now totally disappeared ... well, it ain't no fine life, despite what you hear.

My iPod is blasting music into my ears, but it hardly entertains me. My hand props up my face, which is fixed with the worst bored expression since they made a movie about how to lay an egg.

Of course, with my new bird-wings, that may prove useful ...

Haha. Just kidding. Gotcha!

(Oh God, now I'm getting paranoid ... holy bird-mamma, I better not lay an egg. That would be damn inconvenient.)

The music I'm listening to is "in" — number one on the charts, rude, full of messed-up girls showing off — in the video, that is. The song is just about some —

Wait a minute! Lissie was singing that in class!

Oh ...

Sorry. See how boring my life is?

Iggy? Working. Mom? Also working. Dad? Hospitalized. What is there to do?

'Ni hao!'

'Great timing, Fang,' I drone, rubbing my eyes. 'You have permission to entertain me, but it probably won't be anything good. Go fetch Angel, will ya?'

I can't see his expression, my back facing his general area, but I hear him clearly when he says, 'I wasn't here to be your entertainment, Max. I was just accompanying 'em. And since when did I need permission to entertain you? '

'Shut up. And … what're you talking about, Fang?' I turn to look at him, but he is alone.

That boy is strange, I tell you.

'Turn around, you thick —'

I've already turned back around. His words are cut short, seeming to sense the emotion in the room.

Somebody else is standing in the spot where I just was. The spot that was just vacant.

_Ella._

She stands there, her dark hair in a bun, dressed in a flowing white dress. Gorgeous. She's _gorgeous._

And she never even made it past thirteen.

'Ella ...' I whisper. Our eyes are filled with tears. How would you feel, seeing your thought-to-be-dead little sister? There really isn't much we could say.

So we don't.

She just rushes forward, meeting me midway in a tearful, overjoyed, saddened, and altogether emotional hug. We clutch each other tightly. No words can express what we're feeling.

Together, we fall to the ground, our hug breaking. We just stare at one another. Fang has gone, presumably leaving us to our tear-fest.

I whisper her name once more. The feel of her name on my lips, with her sitting there, right in front of me ...

It was indescribable.

'Maxie,' she says quietly.

After several minutes of relentless staring, our hands tightly grasping the other's, we break apart. It is strange, how easily we return to normal conversations, especially after six months knowing she was lying stock-still underground, locked in a wooden box —

Wow. Not a cheery thought, Max.

'So, how's school?' she asks, as we head down the stairs a few minutes later. It is strange how quickly we return to our old ways, locked in normal conversation. 'And why did you beg me to come down here anyway?'

What? I feel hungry.

And I can smell cookies.

You can't resist cookies.

'Bleh,' I say, my mouth watering. I can see them now! _COOKIES! _

'Bleh?' She hasn't noticed my cookie-crazed eyes, glazed over with hunger.

And there I was thinking the girl could read my mind.

'I ... well, it's okay ... I, uh ...' My words float away.

They are so close.

The cookies.

Hell, I can even see the melted parts of the chocolate chips ...

Only six feet away ...

Five ...

Four …

I reach out and snatch a cookie from the tray, as if it would steal the precious cookie back if I wasn't quick enough, and stuffed the delicious piece of heaven into my mouth.

Another.

And another.

'Holy crap, Max,' exclaimed Ella, her eyes alarmed. 'How many of those things can you fit in there?'

'Drntyrmrmbrmrcrlrr?'

'Uh, what?'

I swallow, the burning, successfully chewed cookie-mash rushing down my throat. 'Don't you remember my record?' I repeat. If you ask me, that's exactly what it sounded like last time I said it.

'Oh. Um, I'm going to have to go with _no ...'_

'My record is twenty-five at once! But I had to go to hospital that time ... if you don't count that, my record is seventeen.'

Her eyes the size of golfballs, Ella gapes, 'How. The. *Hell* am I related to you? And how did you not _die?'_

'Oh, I almost did!' I say cheerfully, smiling wide at her. I'm sure I had several cookie-bits in my teeth.

'The most I could ever do is two without puking,' Ella mutters, shaking her head. I just grin wider.

'Typical Max,' drawls a voice from behind me.

'Shut up, Fangie,' I say, 'or I'll make my couch rape you.'

He appears next to Ella, in front of me. 'How, exactly, will you do that?'

'Um —'

I am cut off when a sudden burst of pain hits my back, stronger than the others I've been getting. I fall to the ground, but don't hit the linoleum floor, caught by strong arms. No attention is paid to them; my mind is blasted with so much agony I tilt my head backwards and open my mouth in a silent scream. No sound can be heard. The pain is so intense, I can't even use my voice.

'Max!' someone cries, and I feel my body being cradled by an unknown figure, dark and silhouetted against the blurring light of the kitchen.

Beside that person, I see another, their hair almost brushing my face. They, too, are silhouetted. In fact, the only thing in the room that isn't appearing to me as black and white are the glistening silver tears dripping from the eyes of the second figure.

An intense ringing is in my ears. The pain has lessened, but it is still so agonizing I can hardly gasp out a single breath. My hands are grasping my head tightly as it throbs heavily.

It is almost as if an overload of information is rushing into my brain; pictures, words and numbers all appear, taking over my vision. I realize something, a few minutes later —

History.

My mind is replaying history.

Everything, from the first day mankind set foot on Earth, until today.

And further still does it stretch, a few years, but I find I can yank heavily back on reigns to pull back the visions, until I am back to the present.

None of it makes sense to me. Amongst the overload of information that is now like an undercurrent in my brain, I can pick out memories from Fang's life, Angel's, and even Ella's. Billions of people, their whole lives; now inside my head.

_**Maximum.**_

I scream and flail wildly. The arms keeping me captive struggle to still me.

_**Maximum.**_

It is a voice.

Inside my head, there is a voice.

A Voice.

It is neither male nor female, young nor old — what is it?

_Who are you?_ I think. There is no reply.

Of course. Jeez, Max, what were you expecting?

The pain has dulled to a throbbing ache. I slowly sit, using the strong body propping me up as support.

'Max?' somebody whispers. The second person. Ella. I recognize her now. Color has returned.

'Max, are you okay?' she repeats. Her gaze is frantic, and her hands are wringing together worriedly.

I look up, careful not to move my head too fast. I'm not _that_ stupid.

Heh.

'Fang?' I whisper. His face looms above me, as he bites his lip. That is the only sign of emotion he shows, apart from the tiny crease between his eyebrows.

He nods in reply.

'Are you okay, Max?' squeaks Ella. 'What happened?'

'My ... head ...' I gasp, leaning my head against Fang's chest.

'What? What happened to your head?' asks Ella, her voice plagued with worry and fear.

'Information. Overload. Can't you just look into my head and see?' I groan.

_'I_ can read your mind,' mutters Fang. 'I'm not right now, but I can. Ella can't. She hasn't been dead long enough.'

_Oh._ That makes sense.

'Max?'

I blink. 'Wha ...?'

'Can I, you know, look inside your head?'

'Go ahead ...' I murmur. 'Just don't go near the painful part ...'

I can almost feel him prying around my thoughts curiously. The tendril-like things poking around jerk back suddenly and I feel a stab of pain, but it quickly fades.

A few minutes later, I hear Fang's voice. 'Max? You okay?'

'Yeah,' I say quietly. I am still in his arms.

He turns to Ella. 'Something has invaded her mind. I don't think it's bad, exactly ... it feels a bit like the Keeper, but different. As soon as it came in contact with her, everything that it has ever seen — meaning every bit of history and information since the first moment of humankind — rushed into Max's head. Which is kind of a lot. Luckily, she's strong. Anybody else would've died. I know I would've. If I wasn't already.'

'Died?' gasps Ella. 'No wonder she was silent-screaming!'

'She has a sort of wave inside her head now, with all of the information floating along in it. She can access any part of it at will, without it affecting _her._ And — it's weird. When the thing touched her, its whole _being_ migrated into Max's brain. It's like a spirit. It is awfully wise; it's been around longer than any of us can comprehend. Not even everything it's seen is in Max's mind. Just the human stuff.' Fang turns me to look at him. 'Her eyes are different. Look. Max, look at Ella.'

I turn my head. Ella's eyes widen in shock.

'Max!' she exclaims. 'Your eyes are silver!'

'What?' I shriek. 'Silver?'

'They'll change color, depending on her mood. If she concentrates, she can keep them brown. But it won't be easy,' Fang sighs. He gets to his feet, pulling me up with him, and helps me to stand properly. He keeps a hand lightly on my hip, just in case.

I try to ignore the mad butterflies dancing in my stomach.

He glances at me, and I blush; it's easy to forget he can read minds.

_'If you like it then you should've put a ring on it, don't be mad if you see that he wants it ...' _sings Ella, dancing about the living room, with thoughts of my messed up new brain gone from her head. She bounces merrily on the couch.

'How is it,' murmurs Fang, 'that one moment she was freaking out while you were having some sort of brain attack, and the next she's dancing about the room singing _Single Ladies?'_

I snort. 'How do you know that song? You're dead!'

He looks at me as if I'm dumb. 'Max,' he says slowly, 'counting when I've been dead, I have been on Earth for one hundred and fourteen years. You think I haven't heard _Single Ladies?'_ He rolls his eyes. 'That was so overplayed I've probably heard that more times than I've taken a breath.'

Ella laughs at us from across the room. _'ALL THE SINGLE LADIES!'_

'Why don't you sing, uh, Taylor Swift or something?' I suggest.

Fang shoots me a horrified look. 'NO! Max, how could you? ELLA, NO!'

_'THAT YOU WERE ROMEO, YOU WERE THROWING PEBBLES AND MY DADDY SAID STAY AWAY FROM JULIET ...'_ shouts Ella at the top of her lungs. I grimace, and Fang elbows me.

'What was that for?' I shriek. He laughs.

'You made her sing Taylor Swift!' he exclaims. 'That's the least I could do!'

'Violence is not the answer!'

With a snort, he jumps and tackles me to the ground. We throw playful punches at one another, laughing.

'You just said violence isn't the answer!' he says, grinning. 'And yet, you still attack me?'

'YOU attacked ME!' I laugh, tossing my head back. Then a sensation hits me, making me scream.

HE WAS FREAKING TICKLING ME!

Son of a ...

I fall to the ground with shrieks of unabashed mirth, my legs kicking and my eyes watering. Fang's legs are on either side of me as he tickles my sides ferociously, me twisting underneath him like a wild thing.

'Fang, stop!' I cry, trying my hardest not to laugh. I fail. 'I'll pee my pants! On you! Fang!' I whine.

'Max!' he echoes.

'Fang!'

'Max!'

'Fang!'

'Max!'

'Bacon!'

'Ma — what?'

'Bacon! I want bacon!'

Utterly bewildered, Fang stares at me. 'Bacon?'

'Yeah! Make me some bacon, will ya, Fang?'

'Wow, you never cease to surprise me,' he comments. 'Um, no. Make _yourself_ some bacon.'

'But ... but ... but that's —'

Our attention shoots to Ella as a large _**CRASH **_ fills the air. She is lying on the ground, giggling hysterically, with a broken vase beside her head and an upturned table at her feet. I roll my eyes and stand, dragging Fang with me. We make our way over to Ella.

Her eyes flicker down her giggles intensify. I follow her gaze, and am mortified to discover we're still holding hands. I pull away immediately. Fang, being Fang, acts as if he notices nothing.

'Ella,' I say, giving her a stern glance, 'fix it.'

'I can't!' she protests, but her cheeks are red and she can't hide the laughter escaping her lips.

'Honestly? You're kinda ... special. I'm sure you have other powers. No —' I say, raising an eyebrow, 'don't lie to me. And if you don't, Fangalator here does. So somebody fix this thing up or Mom'll have my head.'

'Whatever,' sighs Ella, flicking her hand at the vase, still in a lying down position. The broken shards rejoin, and not even a crack is visible on the side-on vase. It is as if she has just muttered _'Reparo,'_ and —

Sorry. Harry Potter reference. Unintentional.

What? I'm a freak in more ways than one.

'Got that right,' mutters Fang.

'Stop reading my mind already!' I exclaim, turning on my heel and exiting the room. _Fangs these days._

* * *

><p>'Max? Maxibon? You home, li'l sis?'<p>

I shoot straight upright in my bed. Ella looks at me, alarmed, and Fang just lounges back that much further on my _(mine_, Fang, it's _mine)_ chair.

'Um, yeah, Iggy, I'm home!' I call, biting my lip — a habit I have gotten into.

Fang shrugs. 'It's not like he can see us. Relax, both of you.'

'Yeah,' I hiss, 'but I could accidentally think you're there and talk to you, or Iggy could sense Ella's presence with that weird way he has, or —'

'Max,' calls Iggy, 'Maximum! That hello was pa-the-tic. And I have something to tell you. So if you're hiding some porn, I'm coming up!'

I rolls my eyes. Typical Iggy.

He stomps his way up the stairs.

'Honestly,' I shout, 'could you get any louder?'

'I could!' he yells back. I groan. The stomping has intensified.

He bursts into the room, dressed in —

'Iggy,' I gawp, 'why the H-E-double-hockey-sticks are you in my freaking fairy dress? And how on _earth_ does it fit? I wore that when I was seven!'

'Do I look sexy?' he says, doing some strange dance, feet kicking out underneath him. He holds up a hand. 'No, you don't have to say it. I already know. It's true. I AM A SEXY BI—'

'Iggy!'

'Sowwy, Maxie. But we know who Akon was really singing about, Maxie ... yes, that is correct! Moi!'

I roll my eyes. 'Why're you here?'

'Just coming to say 'ello!' he shouts, waving his hands in the air.

Of course, it's only _then_ that I realize he's drunk, and home way too early from work.

'Iggy!' I exclaim. 'Ignatius Jason Martinez! Why are you back so early, and totally off your face?' I ignore Ella's snickering beside me.

He stumbles. 'Brigid ... with her pretty red hair and blue eyes and freckles and pale, soft skin ...'

'Brigid?' I grind out between my teeth.

'Yeah ... she took me to some club, gave me some drinks ...'

'What of?' I demand. It doesn't look like he's just gotten drunk; he is about to collapse, and he hardly seems to know where he's been or where he is. When he doesn't reply, I snarl, 'Iggy ...'

'I don't know,' he slurs. 'Water? Tasted like water ... looked like water ... all frothy though ...'

Realization dawns on me.

'She drugged him!' I exclaim, looking furiously out the window. 'That little —' My words are cut off by Ella's piercing scream; I turn to see Iggy fall to the floor, eyes closed, body limp.

'Iggy!' I shout, rushing to him. Ella is close behind me, but I see pain in her eyes as her hand drifts right through him. 'Igs? Can you hear me? Igs!'

'Max, call an ambulance,' mutters Fang calmly, appearing beside me. 'We'll alarm you if anything happens, but you have to get help.'

'How do you remain so relaxed?' I ask, perplexed. He just looks at me for a second before pointing at my phone.

I hurry to it and, fast as I could, called the emergency hotline.

_'Police, ambulance or fire brigade?'_

'Ambulance,' I say quickly. 'It's my brother. He's been drugged!'

_'Name and address?'_

'11, Aventch Street, Juntley, Virginia. His name's Iggy Martinez.' I can't control my breathing, and my hand is raised to my chest; I feel the reassuring touch of my deceased sister on my shoulder. _**(AN: just totally made up that address, besides the Virginia part. Hehe …)**_

'We're on our way.'

* * *

><p>'Quick, hurry!'<p>

'Yes, miss ...' A man swiftly makes his way to Iggy, who (luckily) is still breathing evenly.

'What exactly happened here?' asks another expressionlessly.

'He came home early from work,' I say. 'At first I just thought he was being silly, or drunk, you know, the way he was dressed, but then he told us that a colleague of his drugged him by putting something in his drink — not in those exact words — and passed out. That's all I know.'

'Do you know who it was that drugged him?'

'Brigid – I don't know her last name.'

'Okay, thank you,' says the man. He looks over towards Iggy, who is now on a stretcher, being carried away by two men.

I follow them into the ambulance and sit beside Iggy, just holding his hand. Ella and Fang are with me; my invisible comfort. Ella's crying. Soon enough, I find my own eyes leaking with salty tears.

Silent as ever, Fang comes next to me and wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close to him and allowing me to bury myself in his warmth, his strength. Luckily, I'm the only one in the back with Iggy at the current time, and no one sees me hugging, well, air.

Yup, that sounds sane.

The three of us sit in silence, listening to the beeping of the machines that my brother's hooked up to, until the ambulance draws to a halt in front of a hospital, a large sign in front reading, _'Ashford Hospital; for ladies, gentlemen and children in need.'_

It's nothing fancy; tall, grey, and completely unappealing. I follow as Iggy is carted inside, Fang's arm now around my waist and Ella's small hand clutched in my own.

_Don't leave me, Igs. Please, please don't go._

* * *

><p><em><strong>And you won't get to see what happens to Iggy (and Brigid, hehe) until the next chapter! Bwahaha! Hehe, no, don't worry, everyone, he turns out fine. And don't worry everyone, Brigid doesn't. But neither does Max.<strong>_

_**DUN DUN DUN! Just gave you all a spoiler! Hehe!**_

_**Chapter five is really short, though. Chapter six is what's going to make you all freak out.**_

_**BUT NO SPOILERS FOR THAT!**_

_**Ah, I'm evil. If you guys are lucky, I'll post chapter five really soon. If not, then it may be a, um, while …**_

_**School (beginning Monday! Feel like crying …) will probably make things a lot worse. So, just stick with me, okay? Don't give up! Haha, that sounded corny. Don't stop believin' … ah, GLEE! If I get at least two reviews with glee fanatics, I will update sooner. And every single review makes me smile **__** haha, I was reading my reviews for chapter three and I was laughing and smiling and my brother was looking at me weirdly …**_

_**Alright! I've bored you enough! Goodbye for now!**_

_**RnR?**_

_**- J**_


	6. Glinting Silver

_**Hey, everyone! It's me again … I know, I know, I never update soon enough. I just get … distracted, I suppose. But anyway, here it is! I'll try and get chapter six up as soon as possible, I promise.**_

**-GLINTING SILVER—**

* * *

><p>'Max, Max, Max, MAX! Hurry up! I need to do my hair!'<p>

'Nudge, breathe for a second, will ya? I'm just getting out ...'

'You take for-ev-er ...'

'And you don't?'

'Quiet, you!'

I snort and open the door, wrapped safely in a fluffy blue towel, with my eyes a safe, controllable shade of my regular brown. I begin to blow-dry my hair as Nudge starts to straighten hers.

'I'm so excited!' she says. 'Are you? Omigosh, can't wait! We're going to be the life of the party ... LIKE KESHA! Yee ... They won't know what hit 'em. AND I WAS LIKE BABY, BABY, BABY NUUUDDGEEE ...'

'Nudge, shut up!' I exclaim. 'Not even the blow-dryer drowns you out!'

She pouts, and falls silent — at least, until my hair is dry and I flip off the switch powering the dryer.

'Wow, Max, your hair looks so pretty! Like the girl's from that musical, _Oliver!_, when it was all weeeewwww ... Can I curl it? Please, please, please, pretty please? You'll look H-O-T! Don't deny it! Can I do your make-up? Aw, please! I AM SO EXCITED, AH!'

'Nudge!' I shout.

'Yes?' she says innocently, eyes wide.

'Sh.'

'Ugh, fine ...' she groans.

* * *

><p>'C'mon, Max, let me do your hair, please?'<p>

'No, Nudge —'

I yelp as Nudge grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks me back, onto the edge of the bathtub.

'Sit,' she commands. 'Now, stay ...'

I sigh. 'Kay, fine.'

* * *

><p>'OMG, I wonder if there'll be any hot guys there! I hope so, I really do. Oh! Did I tell you? I met this AMAZING guy called Kale, who is totally hot. He was blonde and windswept and suntanned and a massive surfer boy and wearing black so he looked all mysterious and — get this! — he's a presenter on some TV show! And I met him! He was so nice, and he bumped into me and grabbed my arm and then apologized! Can you believe it? Oh, my dear goobers, he was one hot bolognese ...'<p>

'I thought you liked Gazzy?' I enquire, as she curls a lock of my hair. I can hear it sizzling; it sounds like something's burning. 'Are you, like, setting my hair on fire or something?' I exclaim.

'I do like him, and no,' she laughs. 'I put special stuff in your hair before I curled this bit so that it doesn't come out. That's the weird sound, honey, nothing serious. God, I love honey. Tastes delish!'

'Oh, my God, Nudge, shut up ...' I groan. 'Are you done yet?'

'Last bit ...' she says. 'Ooh ... Done! Wow, it looks great! Look in the mirror!'

I roll my eyes and get to my feet, glancing at myself in the mirror. My hair has been delicately curled, now flowing just short of the bottoms of my shoulder blades. I smile – I can't really recognise myself. It's a nice change. 'Good work, Nudgey,' I grin. 'Can we go now?'

She looks at me in astonishment. 'Maxibon, you're wearing sweats, a tank and uggies, and you honestly think I'm gonna let you out in public? Nuh-uh. Get that make-up on, shawty.'

'I'm taller than you,' I state. 'And no! I look fine —'

'MAKE-UP NOW, SKINNY BITCH!' Nudge screams. I stare at her for a second before we both burst out into laughter, falling over one another. 'Love you, Maxie,' she giggles. 'But really, get to work!'

* * *

><p>'See ya Mom,' I say, waving goodbye.<p>

'Be back by two!' she called. 'Or you get no cookies and I take them all up to Iggy!'

'Okay, fine!' I yell. 'Bye!'

'Goodbye, honey,' smiles Mom.

'I love your mom,' says Nudge, as we make our way out of the house. I spin my keys around my finger absentmindedly before pressing my thumb into the soft red button with its cute picture of a little car. My car beeps and the lights flash schizophrenically; Nudge laughs.

'Your car is insane,' she grins.

Really, it's nothing special. You always read stories where the leads' cars are perfect, gleaming, from the richest brands. Mine? Nowhere near. A musty green color, which may've looked nicer without the many layers of dust, it was small and could hardly fit seats in the back. And, honestly? Hardly anybody but me wanted the run-down Toyota in the first place. But I must say, I love it. It's my baby.

'Speed, kiddo!' exclaims Nudge the moment I rev up the engine. 'Let's get to this ragin' party, bee! I'm so pumped ... Speaking of pumps, I hate bike pumps! The sounds they make are horrible ... like nails on a chalkboard. Omigosh, now_ that_ is bad. I shuddered just saying it! Thinking about it!' She paused for a minute, but soon her ceaseless chatter had restarted. 'Ew, once Lissie kept saying it over and over to annoy me and I was like NOOOOO! And then we watched Tarzan and everything was good. Don't know where you were — maybe on holidays in Brazil. Remember when you went to Brazil? And you got Liss, JJ and I souvenirs? That was so cool! I wanna go to Brazil, or France, or —'

'Nudge! Shut up and let me drive,' I say, exasperated. The club where the party is being held isn't too far from my house; only a couple of minutes.

The host is a young lady who used to go to our school, a few years back. Her name is Bella Marquee, and she has connections _everywhere_. She works as the CEO of a huge TV show, _Creating Secrets,_ and happened to be great friends with Nudge and I before she left school. We're so lucky to be going to such an exclusive party, it's not even funny; our friends're permitted to come too.

After a while, I zone out of Nudge's never ending rant and focus on the road until the club comes into view, on the corner of a bustling city road. Lights are flashing all over it, and a bright neon sign declares its name: **'Angel Fire'**.

'I'm so excited!' Nudge yelps, as we enter. 'I've never been to such a high quality party! And — OMIGOSH! HI, KALE!' She rushes off, straightened brown hair flying behind her.

I'm left alone, awkwardly standing at the entrance of the club. The song playing is nothing overly appealing; some techno-punk junk, probably.

I sigh and walk into the mix, trying to make my way to the bar, where I can see around fifteen people sitting, hands grasping alcoholic drinks, some much drunker than others.

'Brigid!' somebody calls. 'Brigid Dwyer!'

A girl, perhaps in her mid-twenties, spins around on her high stool at the counter, eyelids glimmering with glitter and coated with too much black. Her hair, a deep, dark red, is twisted into a knot at the nape of her neck, and her blue eyes shine as she turns to look at the one who calls her name.

'Brigid!' exclaims a young man, blonde hair tussled and lips swollen — I don't really want to know why. 'Bethanne's here,' he says. 'She wants to speak to you. Said it's urgent.'

'Tell her I don't give a shit,' dismisses Brigid. Dejected, the man walks off.

Curious, and slightly suspicious, I sit on the vacant high stool beside hers on the bar.

'Care for a drink?' drawls the barman, leaning forward, most likely for a glimpse down my shirt.

'What do you have?' I ask him. 'And my eyes are up here, by the way,' I add, pointing to my face.

'Oh ... yeah ...' says the man sheepishly. 'Anythin' ya like, ma'am. We'll have it.'

'Alright then ... Beer, then. Cockney's, please.'

'As ya wish,' he says, then turns his back on me and plays about with the grimy glasses on the benchtop behind him. I feel Brigid cast me a curious glance.

'You new here?' she asks. 'I'm a regular.'

'Yeah,' I say. 'Here at a party. Don't know where the hostess is, though, but she found a great location, I must say.'

Brigid laughs. 'You're talking about Bella? Bella Marquee?' I nod. 'Yeah,' Bridget continues, 'she's good at stuff like that.' After a moment of silence, she says, 'Name?'

'Er ...' I think fast. If she knows Iggy, like I'm suspecting, then I need a false name. 'Er, Lucy, um, Hingleton.'

'Hey, there, Lucy Hingleton,' smirks Brigid. 'I'm Brigid Dwyer, if you didn't hear that psycho kid screaming it before. God, he annoys me. Trevor, his name is.' She rolls her eyes. 'How old are you? Doubt you're old enough to get these drinks, but, oh well.' She winks.

'Sixteen,' I say. 'You?'

'Twenty-four. You make me feel old! Do you work?'

'No,' I grimace. 'I want to, though. Need the money.'

'You should start up a job where I work,' she says, 'Hourglass Cars. Don't join those lowly kids that work with the cars themselves — the business is what cashes in the real dollars.'

I clench my fist, but refrain from releasing my anger. I have to stick to my character. 'I heard a guy in the car department, Miffy or something, is in hospital. Totally drugged up. Off his face. Do you know him? Is it true?'

'Oh, yeah, I know him,' she grins mischievously. 'Iggy's his name. And, get this —' She leans closer and says in a whisper, '— _I_ drugged him. Gullible idiot. Told him that after he'd had a couple more drinks to clear his head I'd take him to some flashy hotel and sex him up. At least he was hot,' she laughs.

I can't hold myself back. My fists seem to be acting of their own accord as they begin to pummel her. 'You — little — bitch!' I scream. 'Fuck — you!'

She squeals, bruises already forming on her pale, freckled skin.

'Get off her!' someone cries. Strong arms yank me back and I fight against them, but it's useless.

They haul me up a dark, dusty staircase, then throw me into a damp, empty room. 'Stay the fuck away from Brigid,' snarls one. 'You don't know what she can do.'

'Why should I?' I growl. 'The horrible bitch drugged my brother! She's a little, red-headed shit!'

'Watch your mouth!' the other one warns angrily.

'Why — should — I?' I repeat in a slow leer. 'It's true, isn't it? She should be fucking locked up, you arseholes!'

The first one take three slow, menacing steps towards me, something gleaming silver clutched in his large hand.

Then agonizing pain hits my stomach as the knife goes through my flesh and all I see is black.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Boom, baby! This is a midget chapter, I'm sorry, and slightly filler in parts, heh … BUT THE NEXT ONE IS FAIRLY LONG! And much more exciting … <strong>_

_**Ahem.**_

_**Yes, so … the next one should be up fairly soon. If it isn't don't worry – it will be up as soon as I have time.**_

_**xoxo,**_

_**Gossip Girl.**_

_**Nah, just kidding -**_

_**-J**_


	7. Fangwarts: A History

**Twenty pages on Word! Yeah, that's right.**

**No offense at all intended to any British readers! Remember, this is wartime, and not everyone was friendly. I'm trying to think as Fang would. Same goes for the prologue.**

**Max is seeing all of this because of that whole history wave in her mind. Remember that? Yeah. When she's awake it doesn't really affect her unless she accesses it at will, but when she is unconscious she can't control what she sees. ALSO, the italics signal flashbacks. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>– <strong>HIS HISTORY UNRAVELLING –<strong>

* * *

><p>At first, it's just the usual blackness you experience when you go to sleep, or when you turn all of the lights off and your eyes still aren't used to the dark. But then I see faces, of a girl, a family holding a large resemblance to Fang, a best friend who I watched die at war, Fang himself, a man in raggedy clothing on the streets of a broken down village ...<p>

_Twenty men raid the small house, bayonets drawn. Eight soldiers grab a person each; the family scream and flail, but aren't released until they reach a horrid building filled with the sick, the dead, the poor and the wounded. _

_The youngest boy in the family, only six, rushes back onto the street and sprints back the way that they had come, ignoring the desperate calls of his mother and the angry bellows of the soldiers._

_There it is, not so far off; his home! He's so close ... he can go home and have something to eat, have a sleep, cuddle his kitten, Rhys ..._

_'No!' the little boy screams. 'No!' _

_Laughing soldiers turn to him and grab his arms, hauling him back to the putrid building but allowing him to watch his house burn._

* * *

><p>One vision blurs into another, and soon enough I am lost in a world over a hundred years old, a world whose history belongs to another ... I don't even know what's happening. Where am I?<p>

* * *

><p><em>'Nick!' she calls, laughing. 'Nick, hurry up!'<em>

_'I know, I know,' he says, rolling his eyes but unable to hide his growing smile as he makes his way up the rocks after her. _

_'You're so slow!' she shouts. 'I'm almost at the top!' _

_'I prefer to take my time,' he yells, his voice nearly carried away by the blasting wind. 'I prefer to enjoy the scenery! Unlike some ...'_

_'Oh, shush, you!' she grins. Then she comes to a halt, having reached the top of the rocky hillside. _

_'Wow, Nick,' she says, in awe. 'You should see this.'_

_They are both silent until he reaches the top, black hair knotted and windblown. _

_There they both stand, gazing down upon the rolling, dark blue waves that crash against the cliff. The ocean stretches far into the distance, never ending, never beginning. It was just ... there. _

_'Come on,' she says suddenly, tortoiseshell eyes alight with excitement. 'Let's jump.'_

_'Jump? Ilia, are you crazy? Look at the size of those waves!'_

_'So?' she says, grasping his hand. 'If we don't let go of one another, we'll be fine! Nick, please ...'_

_'I don't want to put you in danger. What if you drown? I know you can't swim as well as you could, Illy, and —'_

_'Nick, we'll be fine,' she murmurs, looking up at him. Her light brown, curly hair was wild, falling to her waist, and a lock of it hit his arm. _

_'Okay,' he growls, a sucker for, well, her. 'But if we die, I'll kill you.'_

_A smile blossoms on her pale pink lips, her porcelain skin seeming to glow. And then — 'Strip off, then.'_

_'What?' he blanches._

_'I'm not jumping in this giant tent of a dress, and I don't think you should risk such a nice Sunday suit,' she tells him matter-of-factly._

_He watches as she undoes the strings holding together the bodice of her long dress; undoes the buttons; removes her thin arms from the sleeves. He watches as the dress falls around her feet; as she takes off her corset, her undergarments. He averts his eyes when she's fully naked, wind buffeting against her pale skin. _

_'Nick, come _on,' _she whines playfully. 'It isn't that bad. The wind feels great!'_

_Trying his hardest not to show the embarrassed flush of his cheeks, Fang removes his clothes, refusing to meet her gaze. _

_With a tiny smile, she takes his hand in hers._

_'Ready?' she asks, their hands so tightly clutched together that his knuckles have gone white. 'Set?'_

_'Go,' whispers he. Together, they jump from the cliff. _

_The seconds of bliss — with air rushing across their unclothed bodies, wind rushing though their ears, the scent of the sea wafting into their nostrils — are over as soon as the two hit the water. _

_Their hands separate, and the young man loses track of the one girl he ever truly fell for._

* * *

><p>And I am swept into another.<p>

* * *

><p><em>'Oi, Fang! Fang, get your American ass over here and help me out, will ya?'<em>

_'Yeah, yeah, whatever,' Fang grumbles. 'Can't you do it yourself?'_

_'No, actually, I can't,' says the other boy, his forehead shining with sweat. He is a buff young man, with short, dark brown hair and chocolate colored eyes._

_'Aw, Ari, just suck it up ...'_

_'No, _Nicholas!'_ mocks Ari, bent over the small wooden boat. 'Help me get this bloody thing onto the dock, so those British dickheads can load it onto the ship, eh?'_

_'Whatever,' Fang sighs, walking over to his friend. 'Don't see why you couldn't've asked Trimble, but —'_

_'Shut up, idiot,' grins Ari jokingly. _

_Together, the two young men heave the ten-foot-long, horribly-made wooden boat onto the dock beside the great, looming ship that they are to board in one day's time. _

_'You excited?' asks Ari, as they make their way back to the soft sand of the beach off the coast of Adelaide. _

_'What, for tomorrow?' _

_'Yeah.'_

_'I think so. From what the newspapers said, we're winning by far. There's another big attack on Tuesday, which should go to our advantage. Besides, they'd have said if we didn't stand a chance. In this place, only Anna's brother and Robert's son have died. Ar, we'll be fine,' Fang assures, at Ari's worried look. 'You nervous?'_

_'Nah. Like you said ... it's not like that many have died. Bet they were accidents anyway. Carelessness.'_

_How wrong the two friends were. _

* * *

><p><em>He stumbles onto the shore, wet hair plastered to his face, salt water dripping down his cheeks. 'Ilia?' he calls frantically, taking a moment to cough water from his lungs. 'Ilia! ILIA!'<em>

_There is no reply. No thoughts remain in his head except to _find her_. But where is she? Nowhere that he can see. _

_He spins around, cutting his bare foot on a sharp rock. Blood pours swiftly from the deep wound, staining the colorless stones. Everything is an expanse of grey; the sky, the ground, and now his life …_

_There she is! Thick, crimson liquid spurts from a horrific wound in her side, and one of her legs is at an unnatural angle. _

_Mind blank but for thoughts of her, he sprints over to her limp body. 'Ilia,' he whispers. 'Ilia, please ...'_

_No reply. _

_His fingers tremble as he feels for a pulse in her wrist, a beat in her chest, a breath, anything._

_But ... nothing._

_She is gone._

_All that remains of their love is the band around his left ring finger._

* * *

><p><em>A bomb explodes close, too close, to the running figure of Fang. He jumps over the groaning body of an injured comrade, following his orders to get as far away from the enemy cannons as possible. <em>

_Another falls right beside him, but there is no explosion; to his relief, it's luckily inactivated. _

_Others aren't so lucky. Around him, bodies fall, either gruesomely wounded or dead. _

_How could he have ever believed it would be easy?_

* * *

><p><em>Ten-year-old Fang runs through the tall, lush grass, laughing. Chasing hot on his tail was Ari, small and cute. <em>

_'Come get me!' yells Fang happily. 'Betcha can't!'_

_'I'm gaining on ya!' Ari calls. 'Watch out!' _

_Fang's mother, Cheyenne, watches from her seat on top of her dappled grey horse's back, smiling. The two boys – her son and that of her friend – were so sweet, so innocent, so unaware of the dangers of the world. _

_Cheyenne only wishes that it would last forever._

* * *

><p><em>A young boy sits in a corner, grimy cheeks broken by tear tracks. He has refused to wash, to eat, to sleep, to drink, since his father died.<em>

_Cheyenne looks on helplessly in the doorway, knowing there's nothing she can do. Nick never allows her to assist him when he cries. He's too stubborn, too independent. Does he feel it is a sign of vulnerability? Weakness? Who knows, really. He's only ten, nearly eleven, and has already been submitted to so much pain._

_Nick's father was murdered on a bridge at dusk two days previously by none other than his eldest daughter, Moria. She was always unable to control her anger at times, and felt furious that she was 'less loved' than her younger twin, Belle … so she lashed out. She killed her own father, and broke the hearts of her family in the process._

_Moria has been taken away, locked in a prison cell miles away from where the crime was committed. And now the Ride family is in tatters, irreparable. _

_... Nick's tears lessen, eventually, and he begins to sustain himself once more. But the lively young boy is not the same. He talks less, hardly shows any emotion. _

_He has closed off to almost everyone — even his mother. _

_Only a small few can get through the barriers he's built around himself. _

* * *

><p><em>The streets of Indigo, a small town on the coast of North America, are filled with people whose lives are plagued by poverty. Men in army uniforms march down the grubby avenues of the ruined village, guns bouncing at their hips.<em>

_A family of eight sits on the side of the road, in front of a house that was once theirs. Now, half of it is ashes. _

_The mother of the family strokes the hair off of her youngest son's face, who perches upon her lap. On either side of her are two of her daughters, Octavia and Tatiana, who cower fearfully from the merciless soldiers. _

_'Why're they here?' asks the little boy innocently, black eyes shining with confusion and fright. 'Why did they just show up?'_

_'We don't know, Nick,' whispers his mother, her brown hair falling from its loose bun. _

_Behind them sits the rest of the family; the two eldest children, sixteen-year-old twins Moria and Belle, had their arms around one another and sat in silence. Beside Belle was Charles, almost eight years old, who was being held by their father, Nicholas – the namesake of his son._

_'We can't live here anymore,' Tatiana whispers. 'Look at this place. It's in ruins!'_

_Octavia nods her head. 'This isn't a stable living environment,' she mutters, only fourteen at the time. _

_Unknown to them, a raggedy-looking old man crouches in a corner, his hat nearly covering his face. He sneaks out from the shadows and observes the family before croaking, 'There is a way.'_

_Cheyenne spins around in alarm. 'Who are you? What are you telling us?'_

_'There is a way,' the man repeats. 'You can leave Indigo, travel somewhere else, somewhere safer, 'cross the ocean ...'_

_'How?' demands Nicholas, who stands and now blocks Charles from sight._

_'There's a ship ...' the man says. 'A ship tha' will take ya over the ocean for only a small fee ... Nothing too 'ard to pay ...'_

_'Where is it?' Cheyenne appears desperate, her small hands clutched together tightly. _

_'On the 'arbor. It leaves tomorrow. It's trustworthy — I got 'ere on it from London, you know. 'Urry, now,' he says, 'before it's too late and it departs.'_

_Before he can receive a thank you, he disappears back into the shadows of the night._

* * *

><p><em>'No! No, we can't go —'<em>

_'We have to leave somehow! How can we sneak on, without giving him to them —'_

_'We can't! Let's just stay here —'_

_'We'll die here, mother!'_

_'No, no, I can't do it, not with a price that high — the man said it was hardly anything!'_

_'Obviously,' Nicholas's father says dryly, 'he doesn't find a family member a very high price to pay.'_

_'I can't give them one of my sons, please ...' Cheyenne cries, her body bent over the young Nicholas, who looks utterly bewildered._

_'C'mon, woman, 'and 'im over,' yawns one of the workmen on the great, looming ship. 'Ain't that 'ard.'_

_The other workmen look curiously over at the large family, before one growls, 'Outta the goodness of our 'earts, just snatch one o' the boys and let the rest onto the ship, eh?'_

_'Yeah,' shrugs the first, and with a wave of his hand, down came six others, who all rush towards Charles._

_Terrified young Charles screams and thrashes, but the rest of his family are held back and unable to help him, despite their sobbing pleas. When he's out of sight, the remaining seven are forced onto the ship and locked in a dark cabin. _

_They don't see Charles again._

* * *

><p><em>He stands stock still, nervous out of his head — naturally not showing it, however. <em>

_The music plays loudly, but all he can hear was the beating of his heart in his ears. _

_Down the aisle come the flower girls, the bridesmaids, dressed beautifully — but the woman who came next outshone them all._

_Only sixteen at the time, _she_ walks slowly towards him, light brown hair swept into an elegant do, clad in a gorgeous white dress. Her veil falls over her face, and the bouquet she clutches in her hands is full of exotic flowers. _

_Her eyes fall upon _him, _and they seem to light up with love. The young man at the altar knows that he could never, ever take her for granted._

_Hardly listening to the priest, he just looks into her eyes, mystified, until —'Nicholas Ride, do you take Ilia to be your lawfully wedded wife?'_

_He gulps, but doesn't hesitate. 'I do.'_

_'And Ilia Abigail Ghetto, do you take Nicholas to be your lawfully wedded husband, through sickness and health?'_

_She smiles. 'I do.'_

_'You may now kiss the bride.'_

_Rings exchanged; flowers thrown; cheers heard — and in the midst of the celebration are the two newlyweds, neither of them even of age, but so in love with one another they don't even care._

* * *

><p><em>'Who're you?' demands the child, looking over the new boy that had arrived in the country town with his family little over a week ago. <em>

'_Nicholas Ride,' says the eight-year-old proudly, fists on hips. 'Who're _you?'

_'Ari.'_

_'Just ... Ari?'_

_'Yeah. Problem with that?'_

_The second boy doesn't reply to the (probably rhetorical) question, instead stating, 'You aren't very nice.'_

_'Excuse me?' snarls the first. 'That was mean.'_

_'I'm just telling the truth!'_

_'That isn't how things work in Oracle,' says young Ari. 'You don't say mean things to people! I don't know how it was where _you're_ from, but it must've smelt just as bad as _you_ — AH!'_

_Nicholas launches himself at Ari in fury, and throws him feeble punches. Ari fends them off, until — 'OW! HE BIT ME! WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU? HAVE YOU GOT, LIKE, FANGS OR SOMETHING?'_

_Nicholas poked each of his teeth, sitting back up. 'No, no fangs. This one's a bit sharp, but I have no fangs!'_

_'Oh, whatever,' grumbles Ari. 'I'm going home ... you left a bite mark! Crazy ...'_

* * *

><p><em>'Hey, Fang Boy!' calls Ari. 'Could you help me for a minute? Mother's making me milk the cow, Millie, but I can't carry all the milk – it's really heavy! She filled up three buckets, can you believe it?'<em>

_Nicholas runs over to him eagerly. 'Whoa! You have a farm? That's so — wow, horses!'_

_'Don't you have horses?' asks Ari, genuinely surprised. 'Everybody I know in town does. If you want, Fangy, you can buy one. I'm sure Mother won't mind.'_

_'Really? Thanks!' exclaims Nicholas. 'And why do you call me Fangy? Can't you remember my name?'_

_'Not really. All I remember is that you have fangs.'_

_'Oh. Okay,' says Nicholas, shrugging his small shoulders._

_'Now, Fang, help me with these buckets and I'll try to get you a horse, okay? I'm sure you'd love Kakaida, she's great, really! Or ...'_

* * *

><p><em>Fang rides through the small, seaside town, stroking the mane of his black horse, Psych. He can hear the crashing of the waves not so far off, and can see the never-ending line of blue on the horizon. <em>

_'Hey, Fang!' calls a voice from behind him. Fang turns, grinning at his friend as Ari comes nearer, flanked by two others. One is Ari's sister, Shirley, but the other girl is somebody Fang doesn't recognize. All of them ride a gorgeous white horse._

_'Hey,' Fang says quietly, but Ari still hears; he's used to Fang's quietness. _

_'G'day,' laughs Ari — the two always pay out the stereotypical Australian greeting. 'Shirls decided she's going down to the beach today with her friend, and I wanted to see if _you_ wanted to come. Do you?'_

_'Yeah, sure,' Fang said. 'Come on, Psych ...'_

_'This here is Ilia,' said Ari, pointing at the other girl. 'Shirley's best friend. They're inseparable.'_

_'We aren't as bad as you two,' smirks Shirley. 'No one ever sees one without the other.'_

_Fang pays them no attention. As soon as his eyes fall on Ilia, his breath hitches and his spine tingles. She gives him a small smile. 'Hello,' she greets._

_He nods in response, and forces his eyes back to Ari. 'Shall we go, then?' _

_'Yup,' Ari says, quickening his horse's pace to match Psych's. 'Hurry up, girls!'_

* * *

><p><em>'Hi,' she says quietly, looking nervously up at him. Ari and Shirley are playing about ahead of them in the sand, but Fang stayed behind to care for the horses. <em>

_Fang looks down, into her eyes, and tries to act normal. _God, she's beautiful, _he thinks, but all he says is a simple hello._

_There's a comfortable silence for a few minutes, with her just watching him, until she speaks up. 'You have a real thing for horses.'_

_'Thanks,' he smiles. 'I love them.' After a moment, he adds, 'You new in town?'_

_'Well, sort of,' she says. 'I come down to visit Shirley a lot, but really I live about forty minutes away, in a town called Wallaroo.'_

_'I went there once,' Fang comments. 'It's nice place.'_

_'Yeah,' she nods. 'Further from the ocean than Oracle, though. I've always wanted to live by the sea. Or go cliff-diving.'_

_'Cliff-diving? Really?' he questions, bewildered. She hardly seems the type to do something so ... outlandish. _

_'Yeah,' she says again._

_'Maybe I can take you someday,' Fang says, eyes turning to look over at Psych, who kneads the ground impatiently. _

_'I'd like that,' Ilia replies softly. 'So, what's your actual name? It can't be Fang, can it?'_

_'No,' he grinned, 'Fang was just because I bit Ari when we were eight. It's actually Nicholas, but I hate that. So much. _Nicholas Ride,'_ he said mockingly. _

_'What's wrong with it?' she asks, smiling. 'It's sweet.' And then — 'I love the name Nicholas. Or Nick.'_

_Fang rolls his eyes. 'It's my dad's name,' he snorts._

_'Okay, then,' she giggles. 'Nick it is.'_

* * *

><p>'<em>Octavia!' he screams. 'OCTAVIA!'<em>

_For the second time in his horrible, unbearable life, Nicholas Ride watches his second home burn to the ground, all of his family safely outside — except for Octavia, who rushed inside to save Tatiana ... not knowing that Tatiana was already out of the flaming house, unconscious but alive. _

_A tear drips down his face, and he clutches Belle tightly as she comes to him for a hug, the tips of her waist-length black hair singed. _

_How many more of his loved ones will die before his painful life would finally end?_

* * *

><p>'<em>What if we die out there, Fang? What if they kill us?'<em>

'_They won't. They can't. We've gotta stay strong, Ari.'_

'_But if they do?'_

'_I don't know what'll happen, Ar. One day, though … one day it'll be our victory.'_

* * *

><p>And then the visions stop entirely, and I'm in darkness, and I'm falling, falling —<p>

A light glows at the end of the tunnel that I'm rushing through, and fast as lightening, I speed into it, and for a second I see his face, and two others (so familiar ...?) but I find myself unable to place their names ...

And I find I am back in darkness. I can't even feel my body.

_**Maximum.**_

My head bursts in pain. I try to curl in on myself, but I can't move. It's the same creepy voice as before; neither man nor woman, neither young nor old.

_Who are you?_ I ask fearfully. My voice echoes eerily.

_**Everything and nothing,**_ it replies.

_That's useful,_ I grumble. _Well, why the hell are you in my head?_

Silence.

Stupid little —

_**Don't swear, Maximum.**_

_You can hear my thoughts?'_ I exclaim_. Dammit. You'd think having three other people inside your head would be enough, but no. Now we have to add some psycho history thing to my head that will probably end up giving me a lecture much more boring than Mr Potts's ever were. How ... fun,_ I think sarcastically.

_**Oh, get over it,**_ the strange voice snorts. _**Honestly, this conversation is all in your head, Maximum —**_

_It's Max._

— _**and since you're **_**thinking**_** all of your responses**_, it continues, as if it couldn't hear me, _**you think I can't hear the normal thoughts as well? **_It seemed to sigh. _**Why did I get stuck with a dumb one?**_

_Hey! _I huff, offended. _You could at least be nicer! Or give me some goddamn answers, for that matter ..._

No reply. Of course.

This thing is really beginning to bug me.

_Listen, voice-thing,_ I snap, _just give me some straight answers. What are you, _who_ are you, why do I have all of _history_ inside my head, what on earth can I call you, are you a boy or a girl, and why did I just see Fang's life story?_

Naturally, out of all of those questions, it decides to say, _**I don't really have a particular gender. I think I am mainly referred to as male, however. Also, I don't have a name, either. You can choose one. Howard, maybe?**_

Whoa. What?

_Um, Voice?_

_**Yes?**_

_Why ... Howard?_

_**I don't know,**_ the Voice says thoughtfully. _**I always thought that Howard the Duck was an extraordinary movie.**_

There's actually a movie called Howard the Duck? What has this world come to?

_Voice? Just ... answer me one of the questions. Please, _I plead._ I need answers._

The Voice seems to sigh once more. _**I am, like I said, everything and nothing. I don't have a certain age, either – as you seem to have gathered. You can pick one and we can stick to that, eh?**_

_Um ... _I say faintly, utterly bewildered.

_**Oh, come on! **_he presses.

_Okay, okay ... thirty-three thousand, three hundred and thirty-three. And three thirteenths._

_**Alright, then. I see you're getting into fractions,**_ states the Voice. _**Anyway. I came into being when life first formed. Not even I know why I am now in your head, Max. Maybe this question shall never be answered. Maybe we'll never know why spirits can fight death — fight the Almighty themselves. Maybe we'll never know why you were stuck with such an enormous destiny … **_he pauses, but continues a few seconds later. _**And when you are unconscious, you lose control of the information inside your head. Inside what I like to call the wavelength. The memories it chooses to show you vary — it may've been simply a coincidence that you saw into Fang's conflicted past, as much as we both doubt that it was merely accidental. When you are awake, the wavelength doesn't really affect you at all. It is only when you're unconscious that you can't control it, but you may learn how to, in future. **_

_**The things you see don't come all the time, **_he continues. _**It's an on-off thing. Don't be expecting them when you go to sleep at night. It's rare to get ones like what you just saw – normally the visions are just small things in your dreams, and you don't even realize they're real.**_

_But —_

'Max? Max! Max, wake up! No, Fang, what if she's dead?'

It's a voice different to Howard's, not in my head — I feel Howard's admittedly annoying presence exit my mind, for the time being, and feel myself re-enter the living world.

'She can't be dead — right, Fang?'

'I can't say for sure.'

'What if she is? Oh, no! She can't be!'

'No, I think I can feel a pulse ...'

'Can either of you hear her thoughts? I wish I could go into people's heads ...'

'It's just ... blank. I can't get anything from her.'

'Me neither ... Oh, no, what if she _is_ dead!'

'No, I can feel something — she's opening up — it's just a confused mixture at the moment, nothing remotely orderly — she can hear us — she's alive.'

I groggily open my eyes, groaning at the pain from my stomach. 'Ouch!' I gasp.

'Max?' the first voice says worriedly. 'Max, are you alright?'

It's familiar, definitely female, but I can't define the features of her face in the musky darkness of the room in which I was thrown.

'Max, it's me,' the same voice says. 'It's me, Angel.'

'Angel?' I whisper. 'Angel, what —' I break off at sudden agony from my stomach; I curl into a ball, centered around the wound; I can feel sticky blood on my shirt.

'Max!' exclaims another, also female. 'You're okay! Well, not really, seeing as you've been stabbed and all, but —'

'Move,' a strong, confident, male voice commands. Obediently, Angel and the other _(Ella? Is that you?)_ scuttle away, heads bowed, showing clear respect for the young man whose hands shine with brilliant light as they near the bloody wounds on my searing stomach.

_Fang?_

'Yes it's me,' he growls. 'Now shut up, and later you can tell me why the hell you were stupid enough to get yourself stabbed.'

_That is so not fair ... jerk._

'I'm not a jerk, idiot, I'm just honest,' he snarls. I feel his glowing, translucent hands touch my stomach, and I arch my back in a mixture of pain and bliss.

An odd feeling rushes through my body, and it feels as if something is ... returning to me, I guess. I feel myself regenerating, my energy replenishing, and gradually relax as the blinding light that goes through even my eyelids, squeezed tightly shut, begins to fade.

'Ugh ... what just happened?' I say blearily, my voice sounding weak and vulnerable — I hate it.

'I returned your blood to your body,' Fang says quietly. 'I cleansed it first. I was unable to heal the actual wound, but this will help keep you from death.' His voice is hard. It's so different to the young Fang that I saw in the visions that I find myself a little dazed. In my mind, I find myself once again watching him laugh innocently as Ari chases him through a field of overgrown grass.

I hear him give a slight, hardly audible gasp, his shoulders hunching and his body tensing.

_He saw_.

His movements are stiff, rigid, as he gets to his feet. 'Ella, Angel,' he says roughly. 'Go.'

Angel, I can tell, has seen the same thing he has, and also knows whatever the thoughts are that're running through his mind.

'Fang —' she starts, but he cuts her off.

'Just ... go,' he says. 'I'll talk to you later.'

Reluctantly, she nods, pulling the extremely confused Ella to her feet with her. A moment later, they've disappeared in another flash of light.

An uncomfortable silence, filled with pressing tension, forms between me and Fang.

'I couldn't control what I saw,' I whisper, playing with my fingers and, I admit, a bit scared. 'I'm sorry ... I didn't mean to see it, but —'

'Don't apologize,' he says gruffly. 'How —' He stops, clears his throat. 'How much did you see?'

'Everything that matters, really,' I murmur.

He gulps. I can see his shoulders shaking, but he's not crying.

'Fang —'

'No,' he interrupts. 'Don't.'

'I'm sorry,' I repeat softly. 'Not because of what I saw, but ... because of what you've been through. I know I wouldn't've been able to deal with it myself.'

He glances up at me. 'You're lucky,' he says. 'Your life is practically flowers and rainbows compared to ... that.'

'For a time ...' I start, 'for a time you looked ... happy. When it was just you and Ari, playing about at home ...'

'For the most part, I _was_ happy in Oracle,' he says. 'Of course, Moria's arrest and Father's death tended to bring me down a little, but I moved on. And then —'

'Ilia?' I whisper.

Fang looks up at me, his eyes full of so much pain and conflict that I find my own filling with tears. I reach forward and take his hand, squeezing it softly. A few seconds later, I feel him squeeze back.

'I almost jumped back off that cliff to join her,' he says, voice shaking. 'I certainly went back up to the top, actually put some clothes on ...' He gave a small chuckle. 'I put hers on too, as much as it tore me up to do so when I knew she had no idea I was there. Then I just laid there, beside her, for hours. I felt the tide begin to come in — it had already gotten close to covering both of us before Ari and my mother found us. They dragged me from the water; I was going to let it drown me. They took Ilia's body back to the town. Took me home.'

'You've had so much pain in your life,' I murmur. 'How can you stand it?'

'I know that none of them would've wanted me to hurt myself further. I needed to cope, for them. Father, Ilia, Ari, Octavia, Mother — she died the day after the fire that killed Ock. And then there's Moria, who died in jail. Charles, we assumed dead — and if he wasn't then, he definitely is now.'

Now I really can't help the tears; they fall from my eyes like salty, glistening raindrops.

At this moment, I wish more than anything that I could take the pain away from him, help ease his burden by even the smallest bit, anything. Anything so that he wouldn't have to endure this pain that I know is still eating at him from the inside out.

Of all the things I can say, however, I ask, 'Do you still love her?'

He is still, once more gazing down, refusing to meet my eyes. One of my tears lands on his hand, and his never-ending black depths for eyes return mine, seeing into me, reading it all.

I don't think he'll reply, but he does. 'No,' he says in a voice hardly louder than a whisper. 'No, I don't. She wouldn't want me to linger on the past. She'd want me to move on. She would tell me that she wasn't meant to be, and I'd have to take my love from her and hand it to another. She'd tell me to be strong.'

I gaze at him. _You are strong, _I think. _You're so, so strong. Stronger than I could ever be._

And, of course, with his whole telepathic ability that comes with death, he reads my mind and hears.

Brilliant.

'Thanks,' he says. I blush.

'Uh, you weren't meant to hear that.'

'I'm not supposed to hear most thoughts, Max,' he says. I grin, but it fades as another, not-so-cheery thought comes to me.

He hears, naturally.

'No,' he replies. 'No. She was never stuck in the crossover. I think she passed straight through the Gates. When I died, I looked all over the world for her, seven times. I spent _years _searching. I asked the Keeper, scanned the black abyss that is the crossover, tried to enter the Crystal and the Flames just to search for her. After twenty-one years, I gave up and accepted that she was gone. Once she had passed through ...once _any_ of them passed through, it became impossible for me to bring them back.'

'Oh, Fang ...' I breathe. 'Twenty-one years? That's longer than I've been alive!'

He snorts. 'Yeah, pretty much. But against life and death, the both of us are helpless. Death is something that you grow to accept, something that you can never change. Everybody despises it, wishes it to end, but without it, we wouldn't be here in the first place.'

'Come on, Max. I should take you home.'

'No, I'm fine —'

'You're about to pass out,' he states, raising an eyebrow. 'Let me take you home.'

'Oh, okay,' I grumble, pouting and trying to stifle my threatening yawn.

Fang lifts me to my feet by the arm, supporting me so I don't stack it, and then says, 'Ready?'

'Yeah,' I sigh.

With another flash of blinding white that is really starting to hurt my eyes, we're back in my bedroom.

I gasp in happiness when I see my bed, and run over to it, collapsing onto its squishy warmth. Fang rolls his eyes.

'You could at least get in,' he says.

This time I really do yawn, with my covers pulled to my chin, warm as a — a warm thing.

Wow, Max. A warm thing. That was deep.

Fang chuckles and draws close to the bed. 'Go to sleep,' he says quietly. 'You need it.'

I blink slowly, attempting to say something, anything, but there is no time at all before I have returned to unconsciousness and my world is covered in a blanket of black.

* * *

><p><strong>If there's still any mention of "Fantery" in this chapter – I might have missed it while editing – please notify me in a review! Thanks.<strong>

**-J**


	8. Helpless

_**Christmas! Yay! Well, I had my actual Christmas last night – what with my European heritage and all – but it's still exciting, right? **_

_**So, one of the presents I got was the Sims 3 Pets expansion pack. Everything was going well – it installed, at least – until it came up to the "Install Origin" page. And now it's unresponsive. Brilliant, eh? Absolutely brilliant. **_

_**On the bright side, to the Harry Potter fans out there, I'm getting Slytherin's locket all the way from England (it's been pre-ordered), I got three packets of Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans, and two Chocolate Frogs, with the cards (I got Severus Snape and Madam Hooch, hehe). Woo!**_

_**Enough about a few of my Christmas presents (I got an overabundance of them … I feel bad for my parents' money) – shall we begin the story? Or, well, the chapter … the italics went a bit funny, so if it goes all weird, just stick with me, 'kay?**_

* * *

><p>- <strong>HELPLESS –<strong>

* * *

><p>I awaken slowly, taking my time to stretch and lie there just a bit longer, with my mouth wide open and my dog, Total, having a good lick of my face.<p>

Yeah. I wake up with style.

'Max!' calls my mother from downstairs. I groan and bury my face under my pillow.

_'Max! '_

'WHAT?' I bellow, blonde hair tousled from sleep.

There is silence for a few seconds, then footsteps on the stairs. A moment later, Mom pops her head into the room. 'Come downstairs and have breakfast,' she says wearily. 'I made you some cookies.'

'Cookies?' She nods. 'Cookies!' I immediately hope out of my bed and begin to race downstairs, but stop when I reach her.

Her dark, curly brown hair has been pulled back into a loose bun, strands falling over her tired eyes. The lines on her face have become more prominent, and her mouth is grim. I frown in worry.

'Mom? You okay?'

'Yes, honey,' she sighs. 'Just a little tired. Now, come and eat.'

I nod and obediently make my way out of the room, dodging the mess on the floor, but not before giving my mom a quick hug.

There's been a lot of strain on her lately, I know – what with Iggy and Dad both in hospital, both unable to work and me not even with a job yet, Mom's the only one in the family providing at all now. The veterinary clinic she works for is good, no doubt about that, but may be closing down soon; it's very old, and it has become increasingly clear as time passes that less and less people are coming to it, with the signs of wear so clear in its battered appearance.

And then there's the bills, for the hospital and the house. Iggy was right; without the money that Dad used to make, we'll have to sell our current house and move.

I munch thoughtfully on my (delicious, warm ...) chocolate-chip cookie (with the chocolatey bits all nice and melted and gooey ...).

Would I be able to get a job? I'll probably scare the rest of the staff with my possible insanity, which won't be good. (Duh.)

With a sigh and a large gulp, finishing my third cookie and beginning my fourth (_'I dub thee, Cookie Coo-ky!'_), I get to my feet and flip through the newspaper, trying to find a section with any free jobs.

Oh, here they are ...

_**Paper folder for new, fresh origami store opening in the city. Nine hours of straight folding, for $8 per hour! **_

No.

_**Dog waste cleaner needed — higher pay on Sundays!  
><strong>_  
>Double no.<p>

_**Auditions open for brand new fashion and modeling show, Jacinta's Sexy Catwalk —**_

NEVER!

I sigh and let my head fall back. Is there no good, Max-worthy jobs out there?

The radio playing on the kitchen counter begins blasting a familiar song. Again I sigh, and growl, 'Shut up.' And still, LMFAO keep chanting about how sexy they are. Typical. _**(AN: there's nothing wrong with the song, I just think that's something Max would say. Don't kill me, okay?)**_

I flip another page of the newspaper, of which crackles under my fingers. The whole page was filled with job offers, from the CEO of a guide dog company to a trucker.

I tap my fingers impatiently on my knee. Nothing appeals to me; nothing that a sixteen-year-old girl can do is even on here!

'This is hopeless,' I mutter under my breath.

There's a few down the bottom, in tiny lettering:  
><em><strong><br>McDonalds need new staff! Free McFlurries with pay days ...**_

Check-out girl/boy required at local supermarket in Juntley!

Personal assistant position open at Florean's Furniture Frenzy for Florean himself!

_**Starbucks need a new waiter/waitress for unusually high pay with extra hours for cleaning ...**_

Oh, well. I guess it's Starbucks.

* * *

><p>Keys swinging from my left hand, I walk into Starbucks, the little slip cut from the paper clutched in my hand. I don't show my nervousness.<p>

'Good morning,' greets a woman working behind the bar with her hair pulled back into a black ponytail so tight she looks close to bald front-on. 'What can I help you with today?'

'Um ... is there still a job open?' I hold up the slip.

She smiles at me. 'I'll just fetch the boss. Wait here, I won't be a moment.'

Tapping my feet against the black linoleum floor, I lean against the wall. A little girl nearby shrieks and begins to cry as her older brother pinches her; their mother scolds him, and he grins mischievously.

I look back to the counter at the clearing of a throat. I start at the likeness the man holds to none other than ... Angel.

His eyes are a soft, baby blue, and his hair is a gently curling blonde. He appears to be the male version of her – the older version of Gazzy. He is of middling height and stocky, a playful glint in his eyes.

I tilt my head to the side. He holds his hand out for me to shake. 'Hello,' he says in a deep, melodic voice. 'I'm Mr Jude Walker. How do you do?'

'Good, thanks,' I say faintly, bewildered. I take his hand.

'Now, I hear you're looking for a job, Miss ...?'

'Martinez,' I say. 'Max Martinez. And yes, I am.'

Mr Walker smiles at me. 'Just this way, into the back room — I presume we'll find it much easier to talk with a bit of quiet and some coffee of our own, eh?'

I follow Mr Walker through a blurred glass door, but stop, just for a second. Just long enough to feel the sad presence of Angel floating gently beside me.

* * *

><p>'Max, honey? Are you home? Where've you been? I've been worried sick!'<p>

'It's okay, Mom,' I assure her. Then my face breaks into a broad, toothy smile. 'I got a job!'

'A ... job?' For a second, Mom just stands there, utterly confused. But then the realization dawns on her, however, and a smile grows on her face that is identical to the one on mine. She pulls me into a hug. 'Congratulations, honey! Where at?'

'Starbucks. It's nothing special, but it's something.'

Mom smiles warmly, but I can see the built-up stress hiding in her eyes. 'How about you go to the hospital and visit Iggy and Jason?' she says. 'They're in completely different departments, of course, but that should be okay. Jason is exhausted,' she grimaces, 'but Iggy is as lively and potentially annoying as usual.' I laugh lightly, holding her hand. 'Come on,' she adds. 'If you go now, I promise you a fresh batch of cookies when you get home, considering you've already eaten the one I made this morning. But only if you're out the door in the next ten seconds! One ... two ... three ...'

'I'm going, I'm going,' I laugh, running to grab my keys and phone and then bursting out the door. 'Bye, Mom!'

* * *

><p>As I drive steadily to the hospital about fifteen minutes from home, my phone starts to beep. Once. Twice. Three times. Four. 'Oh, shut up,' I grumble. 'I don't care about your stupid text.'<p>

I only realize on the ninth beep that my phone is actually _ringing_and rush to pick it up, quickly putting it on speaker.

'Hello?'

'Max!'

'Um ... who is this?' The number appears unknown.

'Oh, right. It's me, Tess! Lissie and JJ are here, and we were wondering if you and Nudge wanted to come over. It's fine if you don't, but ...'

'I'm heading up to the hospital now to visit Dad and Ig,' I say. 'I can drop by on the way home and pick up Nudge too, if that's okay.'

'Yeah, that's fine!' JJ exclaims through the speakerphone. 'We'll see you soon!'

'Wait, what happened to Iggy?' asks Lissie concernedly.

'He got ... um, sick,' I say, deciding on the spur of the moment not to tell the truth just yet. I've only told Nudge and Mom — and, obviously, Fang, Ella and Angel, seeing as they were there.

'Oh, well, I hope he's okay,' she says kindly. 'Your dad too. Give them my hello.'

'Sure thing, Liss,' I smile. 'See ya, guys, I'm at the hospital.'

'Bye!' they chorus.

With a little laugh, I hang up, the large, grey form of Ashford Hospital coming into view, blurry at first, like a massive, cubic cloud peculiarly close to ground.

It takes a while to find a park, I'll admit. The traffic is horrific and it isn't even one in the afternoon yet! But eventually I find one on a side street beside Ashford, and, thankful, hop out of my car and begin to walk the block to the hospital.

'What can I help you with?' asks the lady at the desk, rectangular glasses perched on the end of her small, up-turned nose.

I wrinkle my nose at the antiseptic-y smell. I've always hated hospitals, ever since ... well, ever since I can remember. My wings ruffle uneasily, hidden by my shirt and thick hoodie.

'Um, what room is, er, Ignatius Martinez in?' I ask her.

'That is confidential information, dear,' she says, smiling sadly. 'I'm afraid I can't tell you this.'

'He's my brother,' I reply. 'I'm Max Martinez. Please ...'

'Oh, alright,' she sighs. 'Ignatius Martinez, Ignatius Martinez ... just a second, dear, I won't be a moment.' She uses one finger to type, and for a few minutes I am left awkwardly standing there. I wince as I see a man covered in blood wheeled into the foyer on a stretcher by panicked doctors.

'Ah, here we are,' she says, her hair pulled tightly off her face in a grey bun that only accents the aging features of her wrinkled, old face. I look back to her. 'Floor four, room sixty-two. He's just eating lunch.'

'Okay, thank you,' I say, smiling robotically at her. 'What about Jason Martinez?'

'Jason Martinez? Let me just see ...'

Again, I am left waiting. A young boy, perhaps five, runs into the hospital. 'Has anyone seen my mommy? MOMMY? MOMMY!'

An old doctor, looking to be in his late sixties, comes up to the young boy and leads him off, hopefully to find his mother. The boy wipes his eyes.

I sigh, tapping my foot impatiently. How long does it —

'Floor five, room one hundred and five, dear,' says the lady.

'Thanks,' I mutter, then hurry off to the elevator. There're several others in there, including the little crying child and the doctor who had led him away. I shudder in claustrophobia, the back of my neck getting sticky from sweat.

I quickly press the '4' beside the sliding doors, and stand anxiously wringing my hands until the elevator dings and the doors open. I start to leave, but grimace in dismay as I realize that we're only on the second floor.

As soon as the door reopens, I rush through and look from side to side, through endless white corridors, each identical to the next. I look at the number on the closest door. 'Thirty,' I read. I look beside it. 'Thirty-two ... Thirty-four ...'

I keep walking down that passage, but when the doors on my side get to forty-four, the corridor opens into a T-junction. I tip my head back and groan. 'How hard can this _be_?'

'You're just making it hard,' snorts a voice.

_Oh, shut up, Fang,_ I think at him, irritated. Just _tell me where the hell sixty-two is, can you?_

He sighs mockingly. 'Well ... it could be this way ...' He points to the left. 'Or this way ...' To the right. 'Or even back the way you came.' He points behind me.

_You're the worst help ever_, I mutter. I take a few steps forward and look side to side. I find number forty-six, eventually, and then forty-eight, and give a heaving sigh of relief. I follow these numbers until I get to sixty ...

And then the corridor breaks into a sort of plus symbol, four separate hallways stretching off in different directions, counting the one I just was in. I groan. I'm literally about to scream — and Fang, who has just been strolling beside me the whole time with his hands in his pockets as if he's having the _time of his life_, does nothing to help that.

_Can you just ... help me? Please?_I bite my lip in anxiety.

'Fine,' he says. I look up in surprise. He rolls his eyes 'I was just waiting for the "please". Follow me.'

He takes us down two more corridors, until, _finally_, off on its own, sits room sixty-two.

'Thanks,' I whisper aloud. Fang disappears without so much as a goodbye.

The door opens seemingly by itself. I stand still in hesitant alarm, until I see a pretty, young nurse just exiting.

'Oh, are you visiting? Iggy or Paige?' she asks.

'Oh, um, Iggy. He's my brother,' I respond.

'I'm Nurse Victoria Parton,' she says. 'I was just checking up on him.' She lifts a tray up. 'He ate his lunch in about two seconds, and is _still_hungry! Can you believe it?'

'Yeah,' I laugh, 'he has a high metabolism.'

Nurse Parton smiles. 'Well, I'll just go get him some more then, and I'll be right back. Feel free to enter.'

'Thanks,' I call after her retreating back, and go inside the hospital room.

There are three beds in the room; a curtain has been drawn between the second and the third, but you can still see the top half of the cot. The first bed holds a woman in her mid-twenties, maybe, with dyed blonde hair. She is unconscious.

The second is completely empty, but through the horribly drawn curtain beside it I can see a figure playing idly with a ball.

I pass through the curtain, and my face breaks into a huge grin. 'Iggy!'

Despite staying with him when he was taken to hospital, he was unconscious and they had to constantly check up on him when I wasn't in the room. I stayed in the hospital for twelve hours, but Mom came and made me leave. Today, two days later, is the first time that I've properly seen him in hospital.

'Max!' he exclaims. 'Hey! How ya been, li'l sis?'

'Pretty good, I suppose,' I smile. My stomach throbs dully, but it's minor; the wound, as promised by Fang, is healing at a fast pace, and hardly bothers me. I haven't told anybody about it, nor about the encounter with Brigid. I just told Nudge that I left early with a guy, which she immediately accepted.

'Oh, and guess what?' I say, remembering.

'What?' he says warily. 'You didn't kill anyone, did you?'

'Uh, close to ...' I mutter under my breath. He doesn't hear. 'No,' I say enthusiastically, 'I got a job!'

'Are you kidding? Good job!' he says loudly. 'Haha, get it? Job?' The girl in the first bed stirs; Ig ignores her and grins up at me. 'Where at?'

'Starbucks, as a waitress,' I say. 'It isn't anything special, but it's something, isn't it? It's sixty per hour, but if I do extra hours for cleaning up and stuff, I get seventy for each.'

'Good work,' he congratulates. 'I think I'm going to leave Hourglass,' he says, smile fading. 'Even though I clean cars, fix them, practically _create_some ... well, you get more as a waitress. And I can't stand to be around Brigid.'

I grimace. 'That's okay, Igs ... I'm sure there's somewhere that'll be good for you.'

'Yeah ... nowhere,' he says quietly.

'When you find the right place, you'll know,' I tell him softly. 'Now – give me all the details on the hospital food. Any cookies?'

* * *

><p><em>Hey, Fang<em>, I think-hiss (think-hiss? Does that work?). _Fang_!

'Yo ...' he drawls, appearing behind me.

_Uh ... where I am I?_I ask weakly, turning in around in circles. Nowhere looks familiar in this sea of white walls and grey doors, identical but for their plastic numbers.

'Oh, my God, Max,' he sniggers. 'Only you could get lost in a freaking hospital. Can't you just ask one of the nurses?'

_No! ... They're scary.  
><em>  
>He looks at me in astonishment. 'Scary. Scary ... wow, Max, I think you really belong in this place.'<p>

_You're lucky only I can see you_, I snarl, _or I'd be pummeling you right now._

'Not like you'd win.'

Angry as hell, I muster my best death glare and direct it at him. _Why are you so damn frustrating? Just help me out, will ya?_

'Whatever,' he yawns. 'I'm going. I'm sleepy.'

_Spirits ... sleep?_I say, surprised; I momentarily forget my anger.

'Yeah,' he says. 'Now, if you don't mind, I'm out of here —'

_Don't you DARE leave!_ I growl. _Get me to the elevator or I'm gonna be stuck in this death trap for the rest of my life! I'll starve or become dehydrated or get heatstroke and I'll die, and it's going to be all your fault. Thank you for nothing._

He rolls his eyes. 'Melodramatic, much?'

Seething, I decide to let it go. I need to get out of here.

Huh?

Fang grabs my wrist, sending tingles up my arm and down my spine; my anger calms, replaced by a content happiness. _Hey!_ I say. _Don't use your mood powers on me! _I snatch my wrist from his grasp.

'I wasn't,' he says dryly. 'Do you want to get out of here or not? If I don't make sure you're right beside me, you'll probably run off and have sex with an old guy who just went through kidney surgery, so ...'

My fists clench. _I hate you!_

'Doubtful,' he sighs. His hand grabs mine, and he begins to pull me along one of the four corridors. 'At least I actually know the way to the elevator.'

I pay no mind to the tingles this time, or the calm, relaxing mood that takes me over. His mood powers will at least make it so I don't castrate him in the middle of a local hospital — and considering no one but me can see him, I won't look like I'm murdering, well, air. Or murdering someone who was murdered. Hm.

He leads me down more and more corridors, none of which are familiar but none all too strange, either; it's all the same in this maze of doctors and sick patients.

I look at the number on the closest door. 'Forty,' I say. 'Wait – _there's_the elevator!'

A woman who appears to be about Mom's age glances at me strangely as she walks past. 'It isn't _that_hard ...' she mutters.

I ignore her (and Fang, who laughs and agrees, though the woman can't hear him) and jog over to the closing elevator, sticking my foot in between the doors as they slide shut. I just make it; I push them open and give a sigh of relief, pressing the metallic button engraved with a '5'.

The elevator is empty, and, though my claustrophobia is definitely still there, I don't break into a sweat and I relax against the wall in the few seconds time I have before it _ding_s, having reached the floor above.

As I exit the metal box in which I was just encased within, I halt, nose wrinkling.

The horrid smell of antiseptic, of _disease_, is stronger here. People are being pushed down the corridors by nurses, or wheeled along in their chairs by despairing family members, all of them too sick to walk.

'You okay?'

I look over at Fang, who has reappeared next to me; he never came into the elevator. _Not really._

He grimaces. 'Come on,' he murmurs. 'You'll feel better once you've visited him. I'm sure you'll make him happier.'

_What if he's gotten really, really bad?_ I ask him worriedly, still standing in one place. _And I feel terrible — I haven't visited him! I've been so distracted by ... all of _this— I gesture towards Fang — _that I haven't even had time for my own Dad._

'It isn't your fault,' Fang says quietly. 'You couldn't help the things that came up in your life. Especially not ...' He copies the gesture towards himself.

I sniff, trying my hardest not to cry. _Just_ _... just take me to him. Room one hundred and five._

Fang casts me an odd glance, but then his face is fixed back into its impassive expression and I find myself unable to read him. As per usual.

'Come on,' he sighs. 'This way.' Dark hair tousled, he leads me straight ahead.

Hardly paying attention to where we walk, I just look down at my feet. I'm ashamed of myself — how could I just abandon my dad like I have? What if he dies now, so soon after Ella, because of my — _betrayal_, of sorts?

'Stop punishing yourself,' Fang mutters. In that moment, I can't help my thoughts flitting back to what I saw, the visions. How much he blamed himself when ... _she_ died. _Ilia._

He comes to an abrupt halt, his body stiffening and his fists clenching. 'Don't — don't think about any of that around me, okay?' he whispers. For the first time, he seems completely and utterly ... vulnerable.

'Fang?' I breathe. 'Fang, I'm sorry —'

'No,' he interrupts, voice sharp. 'Don't be sorry. It has nothing to do with you.' He looks over to me; his face is still emotionless, but his eyes ... his eyes show pain far beyond what any ordinary eighteen-year-old would be capable of feeling. And hate – hate for himself.

I remain silent, just looking at him; the slight hunch of his shoulders as he tries to prevent them trembling; the crease between his eyebrows; the emotion hidden in his obsidian eyes. My own fists clench as I'm hit with a sudden overwhelming need just to take his pain away, to do anything to ease the burden that eats at him.

'C'mon, Max,' he says roughly, voice husky. He avoids my eyes. 'We're nearly there.'

I don't say anything. I know the attempt will be useless. Instead, I just walk slowly behind him, eyes on his back, just ... looking. The black hair at the nape of his neck, the ropy muscles in his arms, the tension in his back.

A minute or so later, we come to a stop outside a door. I read the number: _**105.**_

'Thanks, Fang —' I start, but when I look to where he was, there is nobody there.

He covers up his pain so well, but his past is killing him. I know that. So many people died in his life, so many people he loved, and he never even reached twenty.

And of course there's more than his family: the woman he loved, his best friend ... imagine all the friends he made who accompanied him to war. How many would've survived? One? Even that would've been lucky.

'Are you going to go in?' asks a young doctor passing by, breaking me out of my thoughts. 'Mr Martinez is very fragile right now — I assume that's who you're here to see, correct?'

'Uh, yes,' I say, barely able to hold back a threatening sneeze.

'Go on in,' says the doctor. 'I'm Dr Ashkor Henley, by the way. I'm one of Jason's doctors.'

'Okay, uh, cool,' I squeak. And then I can't hold it back —

'_Achoo_!' One. '_Achoo_!' Two. '_Achoo_!' Three. '_Achoo_!' Four ...

'Wow, you're like a train!' exclaims Dr Henley, as I manage a fifth and sixth. 'Are you alright?'

'I — I — _achoo_! Um, I think so ... I might be allergic to something in here —_achoo_!'

'Hm ... maybe we should get you checked out?'

'No, no, that's fine,' I say. 'I'll come back here if it gets serious ... I think I've stopped now.'

He runs a hand through his dark, wavy brown hair, emerald-green eyes lighting up as he smiles. 'Alright, then. Now, I'm sure Mr Martinez would've heard you with all that ruckus,' he laughs, 'so why don't you head in there and visit?'

'Yeah, good point,' I grin. 'Thanks, doctor.'

'Call me Ash,' he says, grinning, before leaving with his hands clutching a clipboard and his white hospital coat rippling behind him as he walks.

With a small laugh, I head into the room. It's very dark, and it takes a few moments of me just standing still for my eyes to adjust. There is only one bed, a figure curled up under its blankets. The room itself is plain, unappealing; the sheets on the bed are white, cord after cord coming up to connect to beeping machines beside it. A small, old-fashioned TV hangs from the ceiling in the centre of the wall directly in front of the bed, and there are two plush red chairs: one in a corner, and another by the bed.

'Dad?' I whisper. My fingers fumble for a light switch on the wall. 'Dad?'

He stirs, but doesn't awaken; his face still remains hidden beneath the sheets, but I can see a tuft of familiar greying, dirty-blonde hair.

I flip the switch, and the lightbulb dangling overhead flickers to life. Dad groans. 'What is it?' he grumbles. 'Is that you, Dr Henley? Dr Filibuster?'

'No,' I say hesitantly, 'no, Dad, it's me. It's Max.'

'Wha — Max?'

'Yeah,' I say, taking a few steps closer. Dad sits up in his bed to face me, and I bite my lip in an attempt not to cry.

His eyes are sunken, his cheeks hollow. The lines on his face have become much more prominent; he looks as if he's aged fifty years since the day Ella died, when he was all smiles and laughter – before the accident, that is. His hairline has receded, and the majority of it is grey. His eyes hold none of their previous life.

Where's my dad? Where's the father who loved me, raised me, for fifteen years before Ella's death? Who is this man that lies before me?

_He isn't even the same man anymore.  
><em>  
>'Dad?' I whisper.<p>

'Yes, Maxie,' he coughs. He takes a second to turn his face away, covering his mouth as he coughs throatily; he takes his hand away and hides it from me, quickly grabbing a tissue to wipe it – but I don't miss the telltale flash of crimson. He clears his throat. 'How've you been?'

'Alright,' I say quietly. 'What about — what about you?'

'Not superb,' he replies, his voice a croak. 'How're things at home?'

'Not too bad,' I sigh. 'Iggy's in hospital too.'

'Ignatius is in hospital?'

I stare at him. Did he not care when he was told of Iggy's misfortune — the doctors certainly know that the two are related, and Mom visits this hospital now so frequently she must've told him — has he simply forgotten his son's misfortune, or has he been neglected completely, not told at all that his eldest child has been drugged?

'Uh, yes,' I grimace. 'He's um ... sick.'

'Oh,' Dad frowns. 'Anything else happen back at home?'

'Not really. Mom's really stressed ... I, uh, got a job,' I add, my hands tightly together in front of me; my knuckles are white, and I have no doubt my face is a similar colour.

He nods, trying to plaster a smile on his face, but even that seems to cause him strain.

'When you get out ... are you going to, you know, get your life back on track?' I bite my lip.

'What do you mean?' he asks, looking blank.

'I mean ... work. Provide for the family. That sort of stuff. You haven't done any of that since ...' I cut myself off, but it's clear that he knows what I was about to say. His face falls; today was one of his better days, and I just screwed that up completely.

Good work, Max.

'Dad?' I whisper. His eyes are vacant; the slight glimmer of personality that I glimpsed before is now gone.

I take a few slow, unsteady steps towards him. 'Dad?' I repeat. 'Daddy?'

Nothing.

'Daddy? ... Jason?'

His head snaps up at his name, but his vibrant blue eyes, so like Iggy's, show no recognition. 'Who are you?'

Tears well in my eyes. _He doesn't even remember me,_ I think. _He_ _doesn't even know who I am_. A salty teardrop falls down my cheek, and another follows. I don't bother to wipe them away.

_Daddy's gone. Daddy's really, truly gone._

_And I can't get him back._

_Not this time._

* * *

><p><em><strong>How depressing. So much of that was in a hospital ... I was born in a hospital called Ashford, haha, yay! But not in America, so that is quite disappointing. Ahem.<strong>_

_**Also, don't hate me for the stuff with Fang and Ilia. She's not coming back, and he's built a bridge and gone over it. At least it's better than Maya. –shudders- **_

_**AND … does anyone else have a strange obsession with SYOCs? Fun AND addictive.**_

_**Alas, I must go. MERRY CHRISTMAS, and a Happy New Year in six/seven days!**_

_**- J**_


	9. Balance

_**Hey, there. How are your holidays, if you're still on them? If you're not … **__**hah!**_

_**Starting at a new school in … thirteen days. And I'm scared out of my mind. Last time I moved schools I think I was … four? Five?**_

_**Oh, well.**_

_**Enjoy the chapter, little ones.**_

* * *

><p><em><em>**- BALANCE -**

* * *

><p>'See ya, Max! I'm goin' home. You stayin' for some extra pay?'<p>

I nod and grin at my new work friend, Rose. Her shoulder-length, light brown hair is up in a high ponytail, and she impatiently brushes away her bangs that cover her dark brown eyes. 'Yeah. You working tomorrow?'

'Nah,' she says, shaking her head. 'Georgina's taking over for the day. Landau's working again tomorrow, though.'

'Oh, okay,' I say. 'Bye!'

Rose waves at me enthusiastically before walking out the door, purse clutched tightly in her tanned hand. I smile to myself and tighten my Starbucks apron, grabbing a cloth as I do so to wipe down the counter.

From nearby, Landau, a tall, dark-skinned young man in his early twenties with a shaved head, takes the orders from the customers.

I've been working at Starbucks for two weeks today. Since the day at Ashford, my life has been completely uneventful. Fang, Ella and Angel drop by every so often, but for once, nothing exciting occurs in their company. It's just ... normal.

In the back of my mind, I know that it won't last. Soon enough, something drastic will happen. I mean, this is my life, and when is it ever going to be average again?

Iggy's out of hospital. He left Hourglass, and has taken up a job at McDonalds in an attempt to save enough money to travel to Australia, where he hopes to apply for a university and start over again. Once he's finished study there, he intends to return home, begin a new life with a new, fresh job and, hopefully, start a family.

Dad, however, remains in Ashford. His situation is becoming increasingly bad, and Mom is worried out of her mind. Every couple of days we go to the hospital together, just to see him.

School is same old, same old. Nothing old, nothing new. Now that Gazzy has joined our flock of friends, he often accompanies me to work to visit his dad. Unbeknownst to him, Angel, too, comes. She just stays there, watching them — as creepy as it sounds, it's actually incredibly sad. Every time I see her, I have to shove back tears.

Day turns into night, and the customers seem to be never ending. Landau leaves at about nine-thirty, and I accompany him as two other employees, Peter and Xi Yu, a beautiful Asian girl, take over on the night shift.

When I arrive home, the lights are off and no sound can be heard. I silently make my way up the stairs, assuming Mom and Iggy to be asleep, and knock on Iggy's door, as it is first in line, but there is no reply.

I open it a crack and peer into the darkness. My fingers fumble for the light switch, and quickly flip it. Light rushes into the room —

And there, on the bed, fast asleep, is Iggy.

With Nurse Parton curled in his arms.

_Naked_.

I shriek loudly and stumble back, covering my eyes with my hand. The sound awakens both Iggy and Nurse Parton, who shoots up and clutches the covers to her chest. Iggy quickly uses the remainder to cover his ... area.

'Oh, gross,' I groan. 'Ew, ew, ew ... way to ruin my innocence forever, argh! Oh, God, THIS IS DISGUSTING!'

'M-M-Max?' he stammers. 'Oh, oh my God, oh, shit, I'm sorry — we weren't doing anything! Uh — oh, crap — Max —'

'Shut up,' I gasp, still not looking. 'Just ... shut up. Foul.'

'We'd already finished —' he starts.

'DO NOT — NEED — TO — KNOW!' I shout, cutting him off. Nurse Parton remains silent. 'Uh ... are you guys all covered?'

'If you don't count the blanket, then no,' Iggy says sheepishly.

'HURRY UP AND GET SOME CLOTHES ON, THEN,' I yell. Total, our small Scottie dog, rushes into the room, tail wagging animatedly behind him. He is oblivious to the goings-on around him.

'It's okay,' calls Iggy from across the room a minute or so later. I hesitantly uncover my eyes, and let out a relieved breath when I see the both of them fully clothed.

Nurse Parton is prettier than I took her for at the hospital. She's around five foot seven, with black, wildly curly hair that stops at about her waist. Her eyes are bright blue and her skin is clear and pale.

'We met, right?' she says, biting her lip — a habit we seem to share. 'At the hospital?'

'Yeah,' I say. 'Nurse Parton?'

'Call me Victoria. Or Ria. Or Ri. Or Tori. Or Vic. Or Vicki. Or — honestly, I don't care.' She laughs. Her voice is light, sweet. Iggy looks at her with adoring eyes.

'Okay,' I say, grinning tentatively. 'Ri it is.'

'Um, I should get going,' she says. 'Bye, Iggy. Call me, okay?'

'Yeah,' he says, smiling. His expression was that of wonder. 'See ya.'

Ria comes up and presses a quick kiss to Iggy's lips before picking up her bag and dashing out the door, mobile phone in hand.

There's silence between Ig and I for a minute. In all honesty, neither of us know what to say.

'You really like her, huh?' I mutter, leaning casually against the wall.

He blushes lightly. 'Yep.'

'How long has ... _this_ —' I point towards him, then out the door — 'been going on?'

'Today was our second date. I, uh, asked her out at the hospital. Originally she declined because of work, since she can't have a relationship with a patient, but when I came home she was allowed to and so we arranged tonight. We had dinner down at Zin's — you know, the fancy restaurant a few streets from Ashford?' I nod, and gesture for him to continue.

'Anyway, after that we came back here and, well, you know the rest.' My face scrunches up in disgust.

'Where's Mom?' I ask, choosing to ignore that last part.

'She's not home. Don't know where she is, though, so don't ask me. How was work?'

'Okay. You?'

'My shift finished early, so I came pretty much straight from that to Zin's, excusing the time it took me to change.' He raises an eyebrow. 'Nothing exciting happen?'

I shake my head no.

'Pfft,' he huffs. 'Well, I'm going back to bed. I am _exhausted_ —'

'No details, please,' I squeak, before sprinting from the room. 'Oh, that's _so_ gross,' I say to myself.

'It isn't gross when you're doing it.'

I spin around and glare at the dark-haired young man in front of me. _Go away, Fang._

'Hm? I'm sorry, but that was rude,' he drawls.

_And I care ... why? Just ... leave me alone, okay?_

He raises one dark eyebrow in answer. I huff and turn around, stomping down the hall to my bedroom. I slam the door shut behind me, but, naturally, he opens it again.

Really should've thought that through.

Fang looks at me for a minute, just long enough to make me uncomfortable, until he speaks up. 'You're turning seventeen in six days,' he states.

I squint at him. _I am? What's the date today?_

'The seventh of August.'

_Oh._ I think about this for a moment. _Hey! I'm turning seventeen in six days!_ I stop. _Wow, I'm old._

He rolls his eyes. 'You think _you're_ old? I'm so old I'm like Edward Cullen. A creepy, hundred-or-so-year-old mind-reader. Yippee,' he says sarcastically. 'At least I don't sparkle.'

I snort. _You're not nearly as creepy as sparkle-boy. Just annoying._

'Annoying?' He mocks hurt. 'Excuse me?'

_That's right_, I say, nodding. _A, N, N, O, Y ..._

Fang chuckles and flops onto my bed. I glare jokingly at him. 'OFF!' I command childishly, aloud.

'Who are you, Dora the Explorer?' He grins cheekily and stays where he is.

_Shut up_, I grumble, but can't hide my smile. I sit next to him, keeping my eyes averted from the sliver of olive skin between his pants and his shirt, which rose when he lay on my bed.

'So ... what do you like?' he asks. I look at him in confusion.

'I mean, what do you want for your birthday?' he says, rewording his question.

I ponder this thoughtfully for a second, then shrug. _No clue._

'Well, that doesn't help,' he snorts. 'Give me an idea! I'll just _borrow_ somebody's money, heh, go grab something, and leave the cash on the counter ... Come on, Max! Almost everybody _but_ me has bought you a present.'

_Why're you so eager anyway?_ I groan, moving to lie beside him.

He shrugs.

_Great reply! _I elbow his side playfully.

Fang elbows me back, grinning. This soon develops into an all-out elbowing war, however, and we both forget the upcoming event of my birthday.

We both just lie there for a while, elbowing back and forth. Me. Him. Me. Him. Me. Him. Him again —

'Hey! You can't go twice!' I exclaim, forgetting about Iggy's presence in the other room. Fang laughs slyly and makes a third.

'HEY!' I shout, amid laughter. I punch his shoulder, and he grabs me in a headlock.

'Let me go!' I cry struggling against his arm. 'Damn ... you ... and ... your ... strength ...'

He cackles evilly. 'Not until you tell me at least five things you want for your birthday.'

I contemplate this for few seconds, before I exhale in a mixture of irritation and amusement. 'Fine.'

'Go ahead.'

I scowl, struggling against my smile. 'Okay. Um ... a new phone. Or, uh, a bucket of marshmallows. Some bacon thrown into the mix, maybe.'

'Nothing that has anything to do with food, Max,' he says, still my captor. 'We have one thing on the list. Four more.'

'An iTunes voucher. Uh, an island off the coast of Hawaii all to myself. A chicken —'

'Edible.'

''Kay, no chickens.' I think for a moment. 'Some deodorant. Ooh, you could get me some tampons!' I squeal, intending to make _him_ uncomfortable. I succeed. He wriggles awkwardly where he sits.

'How about ... no?'

'You're such a bore,' I groan. I pull on his arm. 'Lemme go, douche bag!'

'Nope! We need three more things, because I'm not buying deodorant or an island,' he sighs. 'Or tampons.'

'A holiday for at least three weeks. Preferably not in America. A kitten. Those things are cute!' I think for a second. 'You guys to all never have died.'

He releases his hold on me, suddenly serious. 'Don't wish for things that can't happen.'

'I can make one of you come back, right?' I ask, meeting his eyes. Our knees are touching lightly. 'Why not all three?'

'One of us staying back on Earth after death is a completely unnatural occurrence. Three of us at once would probably tip the balance of life and death altogether.'

'I don't care about that,' I whisper. 'I can't see you all go. Not now.'

Instead of an answer, he wraps his arms around me in a hug. I return it, burying my face in his shoulder. There's no need for words; our embrace says it all.

For a moment, I find myself surprised by the warmth and total un-Fang-ness of the gesture, but I soon melt into him. It feels nice to experience such ... friendship, after everything.

_Is_ there be anyway to bring back all three? It's practically an impossibility, I know, but ... if I could, it'd mean so much to all of them. Ella'd finally get to experience teenager-dom, Angel would finish her lost childhood, and Fang ...

What would Fang do? After finally seeing all that he's been through, I find it hard to believe that he'll just settle down and find a family, dying of old age in his sleep many years later. Girls falling off each of his limbs was definitely going to happen, but after losing his whole family to death, as well as his wife and his best friend, and then dying himself ... how would he go on?

Fang draws back from me. I remember with a start that he can read my mind, and quickly stop the flow of thoughts, but I know he's heard.

'I've moved on, Max,' he says. At my disbelieving gaze, he adds, 'Everybody dies. It's a fact of life. But there's so much more to live for. Death is merely an obstacle, and every time you get over it, it makes you stronger.' He gazes at me for a moment. 'You'd do well to remember that.'

And with a flash and a pop, he's gone.

A sudden bout of tiredness comes over me once I'm alone. I slip into my pajamas and slide under my covers, stretching out beneath them.

Sleep is my one safe haven. My one escape from reality. I shut my eyes, and I'm in a whole new world where everything that really occurs in my life can't reach me.

Sleep is the only way I can ever feel ... free.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Me too, Max, me too. Or when I'm swimming. I like swimming. Hem.<strong>_

_**See that little button below? That pretty, perfect little button that says 'Review'? Yeah. Click on it. Write something. Go, go, go!**_

_**-J  
><strong>_


	10. Pine

**Hey there, sunshines. **

**Here's chapter ten. Enjoy and eat bokchoi, if that's how you spell it.**

**To Avian-American Gurl, your idea was so good! Unfortunately the whole story is already set out :(. I really liked your idea and now I'm wishing I could do it, but that would totally change the plotline that I've currently got laid out. I'm sorry! And I actually love your idea, haha, it really would've been awesome. **

* * *

><p><strong>- PINE -<strong>

* * *

><p>I stare at myself in the mirror, a small frown creasing my brow. I look like a freak.<p>

I mean, silver eyes? Really? Couldn't it at least be something that's remotely normal, like blue? I've always wanted blue eyes.

But, no. I get silver. Silver McFreaky.

They sort of ... shine. In a different way from normal eyes. It's like they ... glitter. Which sucks, because that means I, in some way, relate to Edward Cullen.

Kill me now.

Well, not really. He's already dead, so —

OH, MY GOD, I AM A LOSER.

Okay. Moving on.

Trying desperately to ignore the supernatural freakiness of my eyes, I shove a comb through the messy locks of my hair. It seems like every time I get the comb through, my hair gets messier. Is that even possible?

Eventually, I just give up and throw my dirty-blonde hair into an admittedly knotty high ponytail.

Unable to distract myself any longer, my gaze goes back to linger on the glimmering silver of my irises.

Why? Why're they like this?

_**They represent everything that can be represented.**_

I yelp and jump into the air, thinking somebody was behind me, before I realize it was my good ol' buddy Voice. Fun.

(... Sarcasm.)

_**Mainly, they represent history, since I've come along**_, continues the Voice, _**but the actual color of the irises depends on **_**you**_**. Your soul is silver, hence the color of your eyes.**_

_Yay, silver eyes! Silver soul!_ I think sarcastically. _Aren't I lucky?_

_**Actually, the more unique the color, the better. Silver actually means something, you know.**_

_Oh, yes. Do debrief me, sir. I just adore your lectures_, I say (think?). I roll my eyes, and I practically hear his sigh.

_The meaning of silver in this particular case is that you are good-natured, protective, loving and fun. However, you sometimes don't make the best decisions and don't think before you act. Despite this, you have a good heart and are capable, brave and determined._

'Yippee,' I grumble out loud. I purposely begin bumping my head against the cool rim of the bathroom sink.

_Could you at least give me some answers?_ I ask, slightly pleading. _Why do I get this? Why are you even in my head?_

For a few seconds I just sit there, not sure whether or not I'll get a reply. After thirty more, however, it soon becomes clear that he's gone.

Typical.

I concentrate as hard as I possibly can to change my eye color back to brown. A few minutes later, beads of sweat on my brow from the effort, my irises manage to change back to a shade close enough to the usual.

Slightly irritated, I huff and storm out of the bathroom, flinging the door shut behind me. It's times like these when you need cookies.

Descending the stairs, the delicious scent of baking cookie dough wafted up my nostrils. I quickened my pace, my eyes widening in excitement.

As soon as I get to the kitchen, I come over to Mom to check her progress. The cookies are almost ready; the chocolate chips can be seen melting.

'How long?' I ask eagerly. Mom laughs lightly.

'A few minutes,' she replies. She scrapes a hand through her dark brown tresses.

I sit myself on the floor, gazing up at her. She looks so stressed, so ... unlike my _old_ mom, from back before Ella's death. That woman was lively, always laughing and smiling ... but this one? She was hardly recognizable.

'How's school going?' she asked me, in an idle attempt at small talk.

'Okay, I suppose,' I responded. 'Nothing particularly special, but nothing truly horrendous yet, either.'

'Yet?'

'It'll happen, with my luck.' I grimace. 'On the bright side, I got into the traveling state orchestra for Washington.'

'Really? Good work!' Mom beams, and her face lights up. She looks ten years younger, just for that couple of seconds. 'How'd the auditions go?'

It goes on like that for a while. We just talk about everything and nothing, and I find myself happier than I've been in a long time. I laugh and I smile and I just find myself enjoying the company of the one woman who always makes me feel _safe_.

When the oven finishes its job, Mom gets up and takes out the cookies, placing them carefully on the countertop with mittened hands. I hop to my feet and rush at the delightful pieces of heaven, but their goodness doesn't break our conversation.

Unfortunately, our talk ends up going to less cheery topics, as we both knew it would eventually. It was unavoidable.

'Dad's condition?' I ask her, nibbling on a choc-chip. 'Better, or ...?'

'Worse,' she answers, the smile I have placed there faltering. 'He hardly ever wakes up from his sleeps, and he's eating less. A lot less. His bones are beginning to stick out.

'No one knows what's actually wrong with him. Yes, he has lung cancer, but they said they've never seen a condition like his. They think ...' She pauses, and swallows. 'They think he may have a mental issue, and has to be moved to an institution that deals with sickness and ... and ...'

She doesn't have to say it. _Insanity._

A tiny tear escapes the corner of Mom's eye. I'm astounded. She's one of the strongest people I know, but this? Definitely out of character.

I go to her and hug her tightly. She returns the gesture, and we stay like that for a while, until she kisses my forehead in a motherly way, and pulls back, just gazing at me.

'You've grown into such a strong young woman,' she comments quietly. I look to my feet, a little bit uncomfortable. Compliments always leave me lost for words. 'I know you'll fall in love someday.' She restrains a smile. 'I'm sure somebody's already fallen for you!'

'Mom!' I exclaim, embarrassed. She shrugs.

'It's the truth! I'm not going to lie.'

'Mom ...' I mumble, cheeks flaming.

'Or are you already in love with somebody?' she asks me, smiling full-out now.

I hit her playfully on the arm and laugh, blushing. 'Stop it!'

'You are, aren't you? You're blushing!'

'Mooooommm!' I shriek. She laughs and laughs, until I can't help but join in.

This is the way it should've been, before one car trip to the Rocky Mountains changed everything.

Eventually our laughter dies down. Once I completely finish (or destroy with my vicious teeth) the cookies, I decide to go for a walk, for some fresh air. I grab my bag and sling it over my shoulder, only bothering to grab my keys and call a goodbye out to Mom before exiting.

The air is cool and fresh, a light breeze ruffling my hair. I smile softly and walk down the footpath, towards where I know a large, beautiful park is located.

It only takes me three minutes to get there. Once I arrive, I sit myself down on the edge of an elaborate water fountain and tip my head back, finally finding some sense of relaxation. That is, until —

'Hiya, Max!'

'Hey, Nudge,' I groan, recognizing the perky voice. 'Why're you here?'

'I'm just passing through. I'm walking my neighbor's dog for some extra cash. Look at him! Isn't he adorable?'

I bother to open my eyes at her excited tone and glance at the dog. I bite back laughter. 'He looks like a deformed monkey.'

'He's so cute! He had a haircut yesterday, which is why it's all tufty up by the head. But he's so sweet! Look at his _bow_!' Nudge's face is flushed with happiness; she's always been a major dog person.

Then I stop. 'Wait,' I say slowly, 'it's a "he"?'

She nods vigorously.

'Uh ... how come _he's_ wearing a pink tutu, fuchsia bows and purple booties, then?' I ask faintly, looking at the dog in a sort of sickened wonder.

'That's how Helena and Alberto dress him,' Nudge said matter-of-factly. 'They told me it's what makes him win _all_ the competitions!'

'The ugliness ones, clearly,' I mutter. To be honest, the dog looks like it just wants to roam free (as free as the wind blows ...) and get rid of the horrible pink catastrophes that it's been shoved into.

'Well, I gotta go,' Nudge sighs, checking her phone for the time. 'I'll see you tomorrow!' She starts to walk away, then stops and turns back. 'Have you finished your gothic art essay?'

My eyes widen in horror. 'Shit! I haven't started! When's it due?'

'Don't worry, I haven't finished either. Text Lissie, maybe. And ... due date ... tomorrow? I think it's in our second lit class —'

'Fuh — farmer!' I exclaim, panicking. 'I've gotta go back home and work on it! See ya, Fudge.'

She waves at me and continues her walk as I start to jog back the way I came.

'Hey, wait!' someone calls. I hiss in irritation and spin around.

'Nudge, if you — oh!' I stop. In front of me stands somebody who is fairly familiar, but I can't place the name ...

'You visited Mr Martinez a while back, right?' the young man asks. I nod, and then it all comes back to me.

I smile at him and nod. 'You're Ash, yeah?'

He nods and holds out a hand for me to shake. I do so, adding, 'I'm Max.'

'Max? Unusual name for a girl,' he comments.

'Ashkor is an unusual name altogether,' I say, an eyebrow raised.

He grins. 'Touché.'

I take a moment to look him over, and am startled by the differences from when he was in doctors uniform and now, in casual. He just wears dark jeans, slung low on his hips, and a navy blue t-shirt. Instead of looking geeky, as I first thought at Ashford (haha! He works at _Ash_ford and his name is — nevermind ...), his wavy, dark brown hair looks sort of ... hot.

'So, why the rush before?' he asks, hopefully not noticing my not-so-well-hidden checking-out that I'd been busy doing.

'I, uh, just realized I've got an essay due tomorrow that I haven't started on,' I say. blushing slightly. I try extra hard to keep my eyes chocolate-brown, and decide in the back of my mind to buy myself some colored eye contacts.

'Bad luck,' he says. 'How old are you?'

I takes me a second to realize, but we've slowly begun walking in the other direction, away from my house. I don't really care, actually.

'Sixteen,' I say, 'but I'm seventeen in five days.'

'Happy birthday in five days,' he grins. 'I'm nineteen. I'm a bit of a nerd — I finished high school when I was ... twelve, I think? I started studying to be a doctor in the same year, and began working full-time in Ashford back in March.'

From the very first sentence, my eyebrows had been straight up my forehead. 'Wow,' I say breathlessly. 'That's a few, uh, achievements, there.'

'It's okay to be freaked out,' he says conversationally, as if it doesn't bother him whether I run screaming or not. 'Most people are. It's just who I am. I can't help that.'

I immediately took a liking to him.

'What was it like, being the youngster amid all the oldies?' I ask. He snickers.

'If you put it that way, it sounds worse than it was. I was just a bit shorter, but my mental age was right up there.' He stops. 'Wow, I feel stuck-up.'

I laugh. 'Don't worry about it.'

We walk in contented silence for a minute, before we both remember my homework.

'Maybe you should go back ...' he says, but I can tell he's disappointed. 'You might want to get that essay worked on.'

'Nah, screw it,' I sigh. 'I'll just copy off Lissie.' At the look on his face, I grin. 'Shush! I'm not as smart as you!'

Wait.

Hold on.

Lightbulb!

'How about ...' I began. 'How about you do it for me? Or at least come over and help ...? I'd expect it to be a piece of cake, since you're smarter than Hermione Granger, so ... what do you say?'

He rolls his eyes and laughs. 'Sure, if that's okay. And if your mom's fine with it ...?'

'She'll be okay,' I smirk, thinking back to our conversation this morning. 'Come on. Shall we go?'

'We shall,' he grins, complying. So we turn and head back to my house, distracting ourselves with idle small talk along the way. I find myself smiling and laughing a lot more than usual, and I'm reluctant for my time with him to end.

Upon arriving home, I smell the utterly phenomenal smell of even more freshly-baked cookies wafting along in the air. I rush to the kitchen, with Ash following unsurely behind.

Mom was in there, carefully laying the cookies one-by-one onto a gleaming china plate. Her eyes fall on me, putting a smile on her face, and quickly drift to Ash beside me.

'And who's this?' she asks slowly, curious.

'Ash,' he says, holding out a hand for her to shake. She obliged.

'I'm Max's mom, Valencia,' she responds, looking him over. 'Call me Val.'

The whole situation is slightly awkward, so I quickly jump in. 'He's helping me out with my homework. He's a qualified doctor.'

'And ... how old are you?' she asks faintly.

'Nineteen,' Ash sighs, probably exasperated with the question that must be asked far too often in his life.

'Wow! So —'

'Come on, Ash,' I say quickly, grabbing his wrist and pulling him out with me. 'Let's go.' I look back, and Mom winks "slyly" at me. In response, I roll my eyes.

She giggles girlishly and mouthes, 'Ooh la-la!' I proceed to turn and ignore her.

I pull Ash along behind me as we make our way to my room. Once we walk through the door, we both halt. I laugh sheepishly. 'Heh ... heh ...'

Okay, so, I want you to get a picture in your head of a dump. Fully loaded. Maybe even like the world-wide dump in 'Wall-E'. Then, picture a beautiful bedroom with the floors perfectly polished, the bedsheets without a single crease. Combine the two ...

That is my bedroom.

Honesty. It's so bad I know Ash's wincing (I refuse to look at him), and I second the gesture. It kinda stinks too, if you know what I mean.

So, all in all, the perfect place to rest at night, am I right?

'Omigosh, I am so sorry!' I blurt, after a few seconds of horrible, painfully awkward silence. 'I totally forgot — I don't usually notice it, and just go with it, and —'

He puts a hand on my shoulder and grins playfully. 'Nothing you can do about that but clean up, right?'

I raise an eyebrow. 'Well, yeah, but ...'

'Come on, then,' he sighs. 'Let's get started.'

I stare at him in disbelief. 'You. A boy. _Willing_ to clean.' Eyes huge, I lean against the wall. 'I must be in another universe.'

'Not another universe,' he chuckles. 'I'm just not your average guy.'

So, we got to work, with some reluctance on my part. Every so often, I think back to when I was a little girl. I always woke up at six and cleaned my bedroom, doing my bed specially to surprise my parents when they awoke. I'd be dressed and ready for school, my hair neat and proper and my breakfast already eaten. I smirk to myself. How it's changed. I'm the total opposite now.

Gradually, minutes pass into hours, and the sky outside begins to dim. A definite improvement has come along to my room, and, surprisingly, I enjoy myself while we're at it. Normally I'm forced to clean my room by my mom, but I find a quick bond growing between Ash and I, and neither of us feel the least bit uncomfortable no matter what we say.

After a long, long while spent vacuuming the carpeted floor (that's supposed to be white, but the dirt turned it a sort of ... brown), we both collapse side-by-side on my now-neat bed. We slap hands in an enthusiastic high-five.

'Good work, team,' jokes Ash. He stares up at the ceiling. 'I cannot believe we just did that. Honestly. Your room is unrecognizable.'

I laugh and laugh, a little bit unsure of why I'm laughing in the first place. When it subsides, I say, 'Yeah, well, we're just that talented.'

He groans. 'What about your homework?'

I shrug. 'Eh, I'll fail. Don't really care that much.'

There's silence for a moment, and I glance at him. His expression is utterly horrified. Giggles shake my shoulders.

'Sorry,' I say, grinning. 'I keep forgetting your ... high standards.'

Ash snorts. 'Yeah, well. Can't be helped.' We sit in contented silence for a few minutes, until he asks, 'Do you wanna go out sometime?'

I look at him strangely. 'On a date?'

His cheeks redden. 'Uh ... yeah, sorta.'

Smiling, I say, 'Sure!'

Surprised, he stares at me. 'Are you joking?'

'Uh, no? Why would I be joking?'

'I cannot believe you said yes.'

'Why would I not?'

He opens his mouth to answer, but stops, his cheeks positively flaming. I decide to let the question go.

'So, where to?' I ask him instead, turning on my side to properly face him. 'Like, where are we going?'

'I'll text you when I find a place,' he mumbles. I giggle at his embarrassment, and he shoots me a mock glare.

'What's your number?' he questions after a second. 'I never got it.'

Smiling all the while, I grab a pen and scrawled my ten-digit number on his hand. He copies the gesture on mine, then gets slowly to his feet.

'I should be off,' he sighs. 'I've got the night shift at the hospital.'

'Oh.' I can't help feeling disappointed as I stand and dust myself off. 'I'll see you when I see you, then. Thanks for the help with my room.'

'No problem,' he says, making his way out the door. 'I know where the exit is!' he calls as he walks down the hall.

Letting out a heavy gust of air, I lay back onto my bed and shut my eyes. I fight back a smile.

Screw homework. He's a ton better.

'Have fun?'

My eyes snap open and I shoot into a sitting position. 'Piss off, Fang,' I grumble.

His eyes are unusually hard, revealing nothing. 'Planning anything for your ... _fun_ night out with him?' he presses.

'Not yet,' I say warily. Fang stands in shadows, casting darkness across his features. His high cheekbones make his cheeks appear hollow, hidden in the lack of light. I can't help but shudder. He looks so intimidating, standing there with his black-clad body blending into the night.

Choosing to ignore the slight twinge of fear in me, I get to my feet once more to turn on my bedside lamp. I then go to my door and flip off the main light switch, making the light in my room softer, gentler.

I look up at the man who stands before me. 'Why're you here?' I ask.

'Aren't I allowed to drop in for visits anymore?' he says. Normally, I wouldn't think anything of the question, but now ...

'Of course you are,' I breathe, taking a step back when he takes one closer. 'Since when were you not?'

He raises an eyebrow. For a moment, I think he's not going to say a word. But then he's directly in front of me, an inch between our bodies; so close I can smell the scent of fresh pine on his skin. The air radiates with visible tension.

'You can't be with him.' Fang's voice is like stone over stone.

'Why not?' I demand stubbornly. His jaw clenches.

'He'll distract you from what you need to do. He'll be the death of you!'

'And how would you know? How do I know you're not just jealous?' I taunt. It was meant to come out playful, but the words sounded frightfully harsh.

I cry out when his hand comes forward and grabs my hip, pulling me roughly closer to him. I can't help the tingles running up my spine — Fang feels my heartbeat quickening, and smirks coldly. One of his fingers comes up to tilt my chin, bringing our faces closer. In a part of my mind, I expect him to kiss me.

But instead of doing what, hell, the huge majority of me is aching for him to do, he hisses, 'You're fooling yourself. All this crap that you're doing in your life — dating, working, immersing yourself in pointless studying — is just so you can _pretend_ that what's _really_ happening, isn't!' His chest rises and falls at an increased pace, and his warm hand is pressed against my lower back, the other tight around my neck. Thankfully he isn't choking me, but it doesn't make me any less scared.

However, being me, I shoot back, 'You think I want this? You think I _want_ to die trying in vain to save you guys, who've totally ruined my whole life just by entering it? I don't _want_ _this_, Fang. You've fucked up everything! I can't even live anymore without knowing that soon, _someone_ in my family — whether it be Dad or me, or somebody totally unexpected — is going to _die_!'

Fang pulled me closer, so that our bodies were pressed together. Chests, legs ... his nose was less than an inch from mine. But the situation was far from romantic.

'You know what? Don't bother saving us. You're a selfish bitch who only looks out for herself. I can get that you don't want to do it for me. But what about Angel? Hell, what about _Ella_? Your own sister! You're letting your head — which is definitely mistaken — turn you into a fucked-up _whore_!' I flinched.

'I don't even want to see you,' he spat. 'You disgust me. Let's hope the Keeper can find someone else to help the dead while you have fun fucking your new, perfect _boyfriend._' He glares fiercely, then adds coldly, 'You're nothing but a child.'

His words hurt so much I forget to breathe. Hot, burning tears brim at my eyes, so I shut them quickly. Fang stands there for a moment longer, still tight against me. I sneak a quick look at him, to see his jaw still clenched and his eyes squeezed together. An urge overcomes me, to reach my hand out and rake it through his soft hair, taking back my words and his. To kiss his jaw and ease his tension — but there is a flash of light, and he is gone, leaving me to sink to the floor in a numb heap, not even feeling or registering the tears that fall pitifully from my eyes.

* * *

><p>Wings spread out behind me, I let out a huff. I'm hundreds and hundreds of feet high, where no one can reach me. Not Fang, not Ash, not Mom, not Dad ...<p>

But no matter how hard I try, I can't fix the pain biting at me.

Clouds are all around me, and I try not to go through them. I've learnt from experience — flying straight through a cloud is not fun, and requires a boiling hot shower afterwards so that you don't suffer from severe hypothermia.

I've slowly been getting used to the wings on my back. At first, I was so unbalanced and disorientated that I had to stay in bed for days. Now, however, they feel just right, and I feel as if I've been missing them my whole life.

In public, it's hard to see them unless my shirts are so clingy that everything is visible — which I'm incredibly thankful for. It's not like I wear them anyway, unless Nudge intervenes.

Nobody outside of the spirits - Ella, Angel and Fang - the Voice, the Keeper and myself know. So, nobody normal.

The feathers are light and the wings themselves are thin and flexible, molding easily to my back whenever I fold them in. Trust me, it makes life easier.

I don't know how long I've been flying. I don't really care. I texted Mom to let her know I'm staying at a friend's house overnight. Which, of course, is a lie, considering that the closest friend would be hundreds to thousands of miles away.

A text came from Ash a little while ago, requesting dinner tomorrow night. I didn't reply, instead switching off the device and letting it drop from my hand. I watched impassively as it fell and fell, as if in slow motion, to the ground far, far away.

I estimate it to be about three o'clock in the early morning. No birds are out, and so far, I've only crossed one airplane with the blinds drawn on all windows but one, through which I saw a sleeping child beside his mother.

My stomach grumbles in a tell-tale way. I roll my eyes. I haven't eaten since the cookies I scarfed down back at home, and haven't paid my hunger the slightest bit of attention. Most of me pleads just to stay in the air and go hungry, for what's the point of food when you wish yourself to be gone? The rest — the most rational part of my crackpot I call a brain — tells me sternly to fly lower and find a place to land.

Unwillingly, I decide to follow the latter, and lower my distance from the ground. Soon enough, the ground becomes visible. I grimace at my "luck".

Instead of endless trees and rushing rivers, the surroundings I'm used to back in Virginia, I see miles upon miles of desert.

Well, yippee.

In the far distance, my newly-heightened vision (the better sight came with the silver eyes) lands on the silhouetted shapes of small buildings. A couple of lights dot a few, but other than that, they're washed in darkness.

With a heaving sigh, I speed towards the town. A few minutes later I come to a rough, stumbled landing, full of exhaustion. _Note to self: get some coffee_, I think.

Nobody is on the rundown dirt road, just as I expected. A couple of hundred feet away sits a good old 7-Eleven, the reliable shop still glowing with cheap lights even at this hour.

I walk slowly towards it, digging through the pockets of my grey jeans to find any cash that I can. My fingers brush a note, and I pull it out: ten dollars.

The automatic doors slide open and a bell rings as I step through, breaking the tranquil night. A girl no older than sixteen looks up from where she has been resting her head, blue eyes drooping.

'Welcome to 7-Eleven,' she drones, her bright pink hair thrown up into a careless high bun. 'How may I help you ...'

'Just looking, thanks,' I say, hurrying to a section where I could find quick food that I could eat at once. 'Is there a twenty-four hour McDonalds around here?'

'No,' she answers, mid-yawn. 'There's one a few miles away, in Granger, but not here.' She doesn't bother to say where "here" is.

My fingers grab a can of Coke from one of the fridges lining the wall, and I place it on the counter before heading back to the aisles.

I decide on a large packet of salt and vinegar chips and two apples. 'Ah, well. I guess it balances out the healthy and the ... not so healthy,' I say cheerfully to myself.

Quickly I place them on the counter. The check-out girl pushes a few buttons, then says, 'Six ninety-five.' I hand her the ten-dollar note.

A few seconds later I am out the door and launching myself into the air, not caring if anybody sees. I just continue to fly and fly, not even knowing where I am.

Night turns to day, and my head pounds from lack of proper water. The Coke successfully rid of my exhaustion and thirst (for now) and the food filled up my rumbling stomach enough to keep me going, but I totally forgot about water. Again following the more sensible part of my head, I fly lower.

I let out a loud laugh in relief when I see trees, especially after that never-ending desert. A large, bustling city is up ahead, tall, glass buildings shimmering in the sun.

Being especially careful not to be seen, I land in a clump of trees outside of the city. I fold my wings back into my shirt and pull down the sleeves of my hoodie before walking out into the fresh sunlight, a cool breeze pushing my hair off my face.

Minutes later, I'm happily in a seat at a diner called "Doria's". A young waitress comes over to place a jug of crystal-clear water on my table, right beside a glass cup. She's about to walk away when I call, 'Excuse me?'

'Yes?' she says, her face clearly showing signs of boredom.

'Can you tell me where we are?' I ask her. She looks at me in confusion, and I lie in a whisper, 'I don't know how I got here. Last time I checked I was in Miami, but some guy dragged me away from the party and ... and now I'm here.' I try to sound as if the thought pains me, and look down at my hands.

'Oh, poor hun,' she says sympathetically. Her voice is accented. 'You're a long way from home. We're in Toronto, Ontario.'

I stop.

_Canada. I'm in freaking ... Canada!_

I stare at her. 'Are you serious? Oh, my God, I've only got three bucks on me!'

'If you want, I can drive you back to Miami,' she offers kindly. 'I'm off work for three weeks starting tomorrow, and Miami's not far from the place I'm going. I'm meeting my boyfriend Derek, see. I'm sure I could get off work today, and begin my vacation early to get you home.'

'Really?' I say incredulously. She nods. 'Thank you so much!' I exclaim. 'I'm Max.'

She holds out a tanned hand for me to shake. 'Juliette Ramorez — call me Lia. Just wait here a mo', and I'll go check with the boss. Doria's fairly lenient when it comes to this stuff.'

My face broke into a grin. It'll take roughly three days for the two of us to drive to Miami, and then I can fly home — just the escape I've been needing. I can borrow Lia's phone to text some random excuse to Mom, and all will be well.

Right?

There's a part of me that's constantly thinking about last night. The fight with Fang. The harsh words we shared. The things he called me. How very, very close we were. How I could smell his intoxicating scent and feel the warmth of his body, visible to no live human besides myself.

I'm sure I'm not going to see him again. At least, if we have a choice. Considering my goddamn "destiny", he'll probably be forced to show up sooner or later. After our fight, I'm hoping it's later.

But was he right? Am I just selfishly avoiding what I need to do?

I don't know. I just ... he doesn't get the strain. The stress. The pressure. How the fuck am I meant to "save" them anyway?

Lia returns with her apron off and a bag slung over her shoulder, effectively snapping me out of my thoughts. She's grinning from ear to ear, hazel eyes bright. Her unruly dark brown hair has been taken out of its ponytail and now falls to her waist.

'Shall we go?' she asks. I grin and we walk out together. 'Doria let me go, but Dorian — her husband — was willing to chain me to the sink and _make_ me stay.' She snorts. 'He hates anybody leaving in the middle of their shifts, because he always has to take over. He never does anything but sit in his chair and watch. It's kind of creepy, actually.' We laugh.

'Oh, that's my car,' she says, pointing to a shiny, navy-blue Mustang. 'I got him for my birthday.'

We hop in, and I comment, 'This is a really nice car. Lucky!'

Lia laughs. 'It took a lot of bribing on my part.' She pauses. 'Do you mind if we stop by my apartment? I need to pick up my bag. I'm already all packed, so we won't be there a minute ...' I nod my agreement, so she continues talking. 'So, Max. How old are you?'

'Sixteen,' I answer, 'but I'm seventeen on the thirteenth.'

'Cool! Four days! You excited?'

'Not really. I don't do much on birthdays, and I'm not experiencing the best time at the moment.'

Instead of pressing me for details like I thought she would but hoped she wouldn't, she smiles sadly. 'There are definitely pros and there are definitely cons when it comes to being a teenager. I'm almost at the end of my teenager-dom, though,' she sighs.

'How old are you?' I ask curiously.

'Eighteen as of seven months ago, today. I know I've still got a year a half roughly left until my twenties, but God, I feel old!'

I grin. 'I've felt old since I turned ten. I thought double digits made me a grandma!'

We talk like this for a few minutes, until she pulls up at an _incredibly_ tall building. 'This is the biggest apartment block in Ontario,' she says. 'My parents live here, and this is where I'm staying for the time being. I'm here for college, which I'm starting soon, but I lived in Orlando — the place where Derek is — since I was eleven. I only moved recently.' She pauses and looks at the apartment block with a sigh. 'Ah, well. I'll be back in a few. Amuse yourself with my tissue box, as that's the only remotely fun thing here,' she jokes.

When she exits she leaves her keys in the ignition, with the engine off. I switch on the radio and the air conditioning and rest my head onto the white leather seat.

'Fang's really upset, you know.'

My eyes, that've been closed, reopen in a flash. I jump in my seat, the seatbelt restraining me from banging my head against the roof of the car, and turn to face the girl sitting in the back seat. 'Angel!'

'Ella and I are upset too.'

I look at her sadly. 'Angel, hun, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. We were both angry, and ...'

'We're not_ just_ upset because of what _you_ said. He said some pretty rough things, too.' Despite her words, there's a smile on her face, making my thoughts shoot to her youth.

She raises a light eyebrow, hearing everything I'm thinking. 'If you really want to know, my mom wasn't always crazy,' she said. 'She was originally a beautiful woman who had everything to live for. Her name was Aura Maria Sanchez. When she was about nineteen, she became involved with a church called St Romanov's. She became devoted to it, but didn't tell Dad. By then she had been married to him for a year.'

'Angel, you don't need to tell me this,' I say quietly.

'No, I want you to know,' she replies. 'I don't know when Mom lost it,' Angel continues, as if I haven't said a thing. 'The church started running her life. She'd sleep there, eat in the diner next door. She practically lived there. But one of the priests noticed her unnatural obsession, and took time away to talk to her. He asked if she was even seeing her husband or family. If she was healthy.

'Mom said she was perfectly fine, but was so angered by his words that she stabbed him, saying that "God disapproved of his horrid behavior towards devotees". St Romanov's turned her away upon their discovery of the injured man, and banned her entry to the top church, though not before calling the police. Mom told them that Dad had been the one who committed the crime. Dad owned up to it, being as kind as he is, and was arrested.

'However, a security tape was discovered a few days later showing her committing the crime. She ran for it, but didn't know that she was pregnant. So she eventually had me, after completely changing her appearance. Brown hair to electric blue, green eyes to topaz, due to contact lenses, tanned skin to pale. She caked her face with makeup, and changed her name to Alina Safeway.

'She returned to Dad a year after she left with me in her arms. She had been staying in Brazil, and lived on the streets. She was very poor and didn't have enough to keep both of us alive — so she went back. He didn't know who she was at first, but gradually realized it was the woman who was formerly his wife, Aura. He didn't even know her anymore.

'I think that was when she went over the brink completely,' says Angel, not seeming too affected by her story. 'She rejoined St Romanov's and attended every single event held. Every night her nose was deep within a bible, and she hardly paid any attention to Dad. If he ever questioned her, she'd go beserk, screaming about how she was doing the work of the Lord, and ... you know, things like that.

'It took Dad a while to realize just how much Mom had changed, though. She had gotten into drugs by then. She smoked marijuana, and had doses of heroin, cocaine, and ecstasy on a regular basis. Whenever she could, she drunk alcohol. She even did those things around me and her newest child, Dylan. I was about three by then.

'Dad only truly understood her condition the day she had Gazzy. She began declaring things about God randomly and wouldn't stop. She started chanting hymns and reciting practically every word in her bible, twenty-four/seven. Her mouth was always moving, whether you could hear the words or not. God had finally screwed her over.

'My father called an institution and told them to take her away. She was locked in a closed ward and attended regular sessions with anybody that had even the slightest chance of helping her ... but none of them made any difference. In fact, it made her worse.

'While this happened, Dylan, Gazzy and I enjoyed quality time with Dad. It was the first and only time I spent without Mom there, destroying my life.

'Anyway, they tried to transfer her to another mental hospital, Truant. In the middle of the transfer she escaped and took the first kid she saw at home — me. She grabbed the keys to her car, which had been left untouched, and ... well, you know the rest. We both died, and Gazzy, Dylan and my father were all saved from unhappy fates that may well have awaited them had my mother stayed alive. She was so far gone she wasn't even human.'

'Oh, Angel,' I whisper. Tears brim at my eyes. 'I'm so sorry ...'

'It isn't your fault. It isn't hers, either. She couldn't help what happened to her. It just did.' Angel smiles warmly at me, and I look away. I can't meet her eyes.

'I'm happy I let that out. The only ones who know are the ones who I had no choice with — Ella, Fang, the Keeper, a few other spirits, and, of course, my dad.' She giggles. 'I feel much better!'

I can't help a tiny smile growing on my lips from her purity. She may've been through a lot of trauma with her mother, but she still has a lot of six-year-old innocence.

But as I watch, her smile fades, along with her laughter. She looks at her hands.

'Sweetie? What's wrong?' I ask gently. For a moment, she disappears completely, and I'm completely startled when she reappears in the driver's seat beside me. Her blue eyes are watery.

Overcome with a bout of motherly affection, I pull her onto my lap. She wraps her arms around my neck and hugs me tightly, and I find a definite soft spot in me for the small girl.

'I've never had a real mommy,' she whispers into my shoulder. 'This is the closest I've ever been ... my mom never held me, or loved me, or even cared. I was just some tool in her game with God.'

I don't bother with pointless words. Instead, I stroke her blonde curls off her face and kiss her forehead. A few seconds later, I realize that she's fallen asleep.

A minute or so later, I see Lia exit the tall building with a large bag slung over her shoulder. I quickly shake Angel awake, and she looks blearily up at me. Luckily, she hears my thoughts and disappears as quickly as she appeared in the first place.

Lia opens the door and slides in, dumping her bag in the back seat. 'There was a hold-up with the elevator,' she sighs. 'I took longer getting back then I should've, because I had to take the stairs. Mom and Dad's apartment is on level thirty-two.' She winces and rubs her legs. 'This is going to kill in the morning.'

'Unlucky,' I mutter. She nods in agreement as we begin to drive away.

'So, how long does it take to get to Miami?' she asks.

'Roughly three days by car, I think,' I reply. 'Can I borrow your phone? My mom is probably going spastic.'

Lia laughs lightly. 'Go ahead. It's in the glovebox.'

I flip open the glovebox and my eyes immediately land on her phone. It looks expensive.

Seconds later, I've dialed and am waiting for Mom to pick up. Just when I think I'm going to go to message bank, I hear her voice from the other end.

'Hello?'

'Hey, Mom, it's me,' I say. She begins to shout and say things in a quick rush of worried annoyance, but I cut her off. 'Listen, I'm really sorry. I dropped my phone in a friend's pool.'

'Well, that's all good and well,' she growls, 'but you were meant to be home hours ago!'

'I know, and I'm sorry,' I tell her calmly, 'but I was asked to go down to her beach house for a few days.' Lia shoots me a confused look, and I hold up a hand to her. 'I should be back in three. Is that okay?'

'You could've asked me first,' Mom grumbles. 'But okay. You better be back before your birthday!'

'I will! Thanks, Mom,' I exclaim, a grin on my face. She barely has time to squeeze in a goodbye before I've hung up.

'Beach house?' questions Lia. I grimace.

'I can't exactly tell her what really happened last night, can I?' I say, still going with my lie. Lia nods in understanding, and neither of us say anything for a while.

Eventually small conversation breaks out. I find out Lia lives on her own, but she's running low and often has to stay with her parents. She misses her boyfriend, Derek, dearly, but she knows she'll see him soon. I decide to tell her about my own family, including Dad's condition and what Iggy went through. I don't say anything about what's really happening to _me_, however — she'll think I'm crazy. But I find myself trusting this girl more and more.

We pull up outside a petrol station when the sun is lowering and the day is coming to an end. Lia sighs. 'I'm out. You wanna wait here while I spend a billion on petrol, or ...?'

I grin at her words. 'If it's okay, I think I'm gonna go out and see if there's a place for us to stay for the night. It's three days to Miami with straight driving, but we need sleep sooner or later.' I look around us at the small town. It's not really anything too fancy; the most exciting thing that I spot are flashing neon lights beside one of the buildings, with the one of the letters failing.

'Yeah, that's fine. Don't be too long!' She looks around and stage-whispers, 'I'm scared of the creepers.'

I grin. 'Yeah, yeah.' I wave to Lia as I walk away, down the footpath. The whole town is swathed in mystical golden light, and the clouds above are a mixture of lilacs, pinks and oranges.

A hand takes my own as I stroll through the place, and I start. 'Wha ...?' Once I look down, however, a grin forms on my face as soon as my eyes land on the bouncing blonde curls of Angel.

'I know where a motel is,' she told me cheerfully. 'Come on!'

I laugh as she pulls me along, further away from Lia but closer to a place that promises at least a small amount of comfort.

'Oh, and don't worry, Max,' Angel adds, 'it's a good motel. It isn't filled with yucky things and it's actually pretty good quality!'

'Good,' I sigh.

'We're here!'

'What? Already?'

Angel snorts. 'We've been walking for two minutes. It's right here.' She points to a two-storey building, its walls a creamy white and its garden full of lush green trees.

'It looks ... tropical,' I state.

She grins. 'Isn't it awesome?'

'It is,' I reply, my expression mirroring hers. 'I don't have much money, though. I'll go get Lia, and —'

'No, don't worry about that,' says Angel. 'I've got some here!' She digs through the pockets of her white dress, and her hands eventually fill with notes.

At my astonished look, she says, 'Fang gives it all to me. I have no idea where he gets his money from, but when he doesn't need the rest he gives it to Ella and I.' My heart twinges at his name, but I keep my face impassive.

'I can't take your money, Angel.'

'No, I don't mind. Technically it's his, and you're mad at him, right? So ...' She nudges me with her elbow, and I smirk.

'Okay, okay, but only enough for the room.' Angel hands me the cash and I rifle through it, counting over one hundred dollars.

I walk into the motel, immediately greeted by a kind-looking woman behind a counter. A vent in the ceiling blasts out cool air, and couches sit on the other side of the room.

'Hello, sweetie,' she says, unable to see Angel. She pushes a few strands of grey hair from her face. 'Would you like a room?'

'Yes, please,' I respond, stepping up to the counter. 'A room for two.'

'Separate beds, or ...?' She looks up at me inquisitively. Her name-tag reads _Kylie_.

'Preferably separate.'

'And how many nights, dear?'

'One, if that's okay.'

She types slowly into a computer, using only two fingers. I tap my foot impatiently against the varnished wooden floor, but refrain from saying anything.

'Okay, then, dear. That's forty-three dollars.' She smiles warmly at me as I hand her the respective amount of money, and gives me a plastic keycard. 'Yours is room fourteen,' she tells me. 'Have a good night!'

'Thanks,' I say, before turning and exiting the building. Angel trails behind me, and I dutifully give her back her money. She takes it with a giggle.

'So, where's Ella?' I ask her, her hand retaking mine.

'I don't know,' Angel shrugs. 'Probably with Fang. Why?'

'Haven't seen her, that's all,' I say. 'And where would "with Fang" be?'

'Most likely off paint-balling. They do that a lot. I've never liked it, so whenever I feel left out they go ice-skating with me.'

I smile softly. 'That's nice of them.'

'Well, yeah. They're nice people. But Ella _never_ stops _singing_! How did you _stand_ it?'

I laugh and laugh. 'I have no idea.'

The petrol station comes back into my line of vision, and I quickly spot Lia's car, with her leaning against it. Her face brightens when she sees me, and she rushes towards me. Angel disappears with a final squeeze of my hand.

'Did you find somewhere?' she asks in a rush. I nod enthusiastically.

'What's it called?'

'Uh ...' I giggle. 'No idea. It seems pretty good, though.'

'Sweet!'

* * *

><p>Lia and I spend the majority of the night up, sitting on our beds and binge eating. We talked and we joked and we laughed, and I find myself temporarily forgetting about my worries.<p>

Who knew that a day at the park would soon result in a road trip from Toronto to Miami? Certainly not me. But then again, what _do _ I know these days?

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><p><strong>I know, I know. It's the longest chapter EVER. You're probably all bored to tears. Sorry. According to the word count, 9 280 words, to be exact. i wanted to cut it down to two or even three separate chapters, but I didn't know where to cut it off and, to be honest, I just couldn't be screwed.<strong>

**I admit, I am ashamed about the Max-Fang-Ash thing. But it will all work out! It's a Fax story after all, not a Mash story (HAHAHA. Max and Ash ... Mash ...). **

**Also, I'm BETA-ing for a Harry Potter fanficton called **_**Lily's Story**_**, by **_**HedwigandHarry**_**. It's all about Lily Potter (the first) – her life from the day she met Severus to the day she died. It's really good – go check it out! Now, I say! Well, right after you review.**

**- J**


	11. Delectable Doughnuts

_**Hello, world.**_

_**I forgot to add this in the last chapter, aha, but double digits! Woo! Do you understand the significance of this event? We're ever so much closer to 100! But I'm not making my story that long, haha. I think I'll tell you all now, just so you know, that the final chapter should be around eighteen or nineteen. Remember that my chapters are always **__**super**__**long, especially in the case of the last one, so it makes up for the smaller chapter amount.**_

**_Enjoy chapter eleven!_**

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><p><strong>— Doughnuts: Deceiving, Distracting and Delicious —<strong>

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><p>'How far until the next stop?'<p>

Lia yawns. 'Ten, maybe twenty minutes? I don't know.'

'Do you know if there's a town around there?'

'Should be. We're getting close to a big city, I think. The roads are getting busier. Busy roads mean close cities. Close cities mean bigger towns. Bigger towns mean sleep.'

'Good point,' I murmur. I rest my head on the back of my seat. 'Any left over burgers?'

'Nah. Well, there's one, but it's half-eaten and cold.' She draws a hand across her eyes. 'Hopefully there's a Walmart. They're quality.'

'True, dat.' I bop my head like a gangster, but the effect's lost in our sleepy haze.

The past couple of days have been the most fun I've had in what seems like ... forever. We went to beaches, played hide-and-seek in jungles, checked out hot boys, went shopping, and just hung out like normal teenage girls - something haven't experienced in a while. Lia's become one of my new best friends, and we've only known each other for two days. It's like we just ... connect.

Angel's visited me a lot. Being with her is enjoyable, and makes me feel like I'm with my family. I miss my mom, dad and brother, but whenever I'm with Angel it quenches that - for a time, at least.

Ella drops in sometimes, too. Not much, though. Not nearly as much as Ange. But she comes. The moment she first appeared I knew she was mad at me, and I've no doubt that some of that anger lingers. Yes, she treats me normally and we have fun, but she's still a little short with me. Angel stays when Ella's around so things don't get awkward; we know that they will sooner or later if she leaves.

But, of course, it's been as if Fang doesn't exist. The only mention of him now is in my memories.

Every time I think back to the two days I've spent so far, I'll think of laughter, though. I know that much.

'Lights.'

'Huh?' I look up from where I've been playing idly with my nails.

'Lights,' she repeats. 'Up ahead.' She scrapes a hand through her thick, dark brown hair. Streetlights cast shadows across her face and her olive skin appears a shade of electric yellow, highlighting the dark circles around her eyes. I probably don't look any better. We haven't been majoring in the sleep department recently.

I squint, my eyes spotting a town that glows with the most electricity I've seen in a while. 'Sweet!' I exclaim.

She grins and nods vigorously, but stops. Her eyes widen. 'Oh!'

I glance at Lia. 'Yeah?'

'I totally forgot! There're doughnuts in the back!'

'Oh, my God.' I groan, but I can't hide my giggles. I reach my arm into the back and fumble for the box that contains the (glorious) doughnuts. 'You're ridiculous,' I inform her as I slide open the lid, revealing the (delicious) contents.

'What flavors?'

'Chocolate, vanilla — mmm — sugar-coated, and one of the ones that's full of jam and topped with strawberry icing. What're they called?'

'Uh ...'

'Well, it's mine anyway. Which one do you want to start off with?'

'Chocolate!'

'Fine, fine ...' I grab it from the box and waved it tantalizingly in front of her face. 'Doughnut ...'

'Hey, stop it!' She giggles and swats a hand in front of her face, promptly grabbing the doughnut as she does so. She sinks her teeth into the dough, moaning in pleasure. 'I — am — in — heaven ...'

'Join the crew,' I gasp, once I have (or inhale) the first bite of mine. 'These are amazing! Where're they from?'

'I have absolutely no idea where I bought them. They just looked _so _yummy, and I _had_ to,' she declares.

'Yeah —' I stop at the sound of a shattering, bloodcurdling scream. It's only afterwards that I realize it's mine.

In front of our car stands the cliche deer, and, lost in the wonders of the doughnuts, neither Lia nor I spot it until it's too late. She swerves sharply, and her sleek car speeds out of control — over a cliff.

'SHIT!' I shout. Lia's own screams almost drown out my senses (along with wild fear), but I shove the passenger door roughly open and push her through. Her shrieks intensify tenfold.

I launch out of the Porsche and spread out my wings, wincing as the muscles strain and the wind pushes harshly against them. Ignoring the pain, I shoot through the air to Lia's falling body. She twists and turns; her surprise at seeing me with wings makes her voice stop — and then double.

She was less than ten feet from the rocky bottom when I grab her under the armpits and fly higher, moving her so she was properly in my arms. My hair whips about my face, momentarily blinding me.

'Let me go!' Lia screams. 'LET — ME — GO!'

'Not if you want to fall to your death,' I snort.

_'What the fuck are you?'_ she yells. 'Why do you have ... _wings_?'

I think up a fake story on the spot. It's not the best, but it'll do. 'I never met my actual parents. I grew up in a science lab in California, and they grafted wings onto my back. I was a captive there, experimented on and tortured, for years — until I escaped at the age of ten. I've been trying to live normally. I'm sorry. I know I should've told you sooner, but I was afraid you'd judge me.' After I've said it, I'm actually quite impressed with my lie. As if _that_ would ever happen, though. Psh.

With a subtle jerk of shock, I realize Lia has tears in her eyes. 'That's so sad! Aw, Max, I'm sorry!'

'That's okay,' I sigh. Lia wraps her arms around my neck, but withdraws them when she figures out that it's not the best idea in midflight.

'Well,' she huffs, 'this sucks.'

'Yup.'

'My dad's gonna kill me. He paid for that car.'

'Yup.'

'And the doughnuts were in there, as well as all our stuff.'

'Yup.'

'Crap — our money, too!'

'Yup.'

'What're we gonna do?' She pauses. 'Don't you dare say yup.'

I grin down at her. 'I guess we'll just fly to Orlando instead, considering that'll be a hundred times quicker than driving. You'll be okay with Derek when we're there. Until then, we can just scavenge, but at this rate we'll arrive in Florida in a matter of hours, if that.'

'How will you know when we're there?'

Shrugging, I say, 'I have a surprisingly good sense of direction that may well have come with the wings. I'll fly below the clouds when I feel the need to, and we can descend when we're near Orlando.'

After a few seconds, I notice that Lia's having trouble breathing evenly. 'You okay?' I ask, a bit concerned.

'I'm actually terrified of heights,' she squeaks. 'I'll be okay, but don't you _dare_ drop me!'

'Sure,' I say. 'It isn't that bad, though, once you're used to it. I mean, hey! We're above the clouds, and there's no plane involved. Impressive, eh?'

A tiny smile finds its way onto her face. 'I suppose.'

'See? Look around. This is amazing! And see over there?' I point to my left. 'A flock of eagles. We're just like them.'

Her smile grows. 'This _is_ pretty cool ... can you go lower?'

I consent.

'Whoa!' she gasps, once the landscape is in view. 'It's ... it's ...'

'Amazing? Yeah, pretty much.' The nighttime keeps us from seeing the beautiful greens and blues of the forests and lakes, but instead it reveals us to the glowing lights from almost every building. The whole rainbow can be seen when you gaze at the cities, and the towns twinkle a golden, uplifting yellow.

'Wow ...' Lia's eyes are like golfballs. 'I can't believe you can just come up here and see this whenever you feel.'

I smile. 'Well, believe it. Now that you're with me, you can, too.'

* * *

><p>'It feels weird to walk again. Is that just me?'<p>

'Nope. It's mutual.'

Lia groans. 'I have jellylegs.'

'Ha, ha, ha, _LOL_ —' I catch Lia's death stare and smother my grin. 'Sorry.'

'How far do we have to walk?' she asks, choosing to ignore my laughter.

'Not too far, but it's longer than five minutes. We had to land in a forest, or we'd be seen, seeing as Orlando is no small city.'

'Good point.' She grins. 'Brilliant logic, Maximum.'

I roll my eyes. 'Shut up.'

'Hehe. _Lol_ ...'

'Hey!' We giggle, and she hits me playfully on the arm.

'So, are we bussing to Derek's?' she questions.

'I was thinking so, but don't bus tickets cost money? We don't really _have_ any.'

'Well, yeah, but I've got about five dollars in my pocket. We can buy two one-way tickets with it, go to Derek's, and he can give us something to eat, yes?'

'Yes.' I throw my hair into a loose bun. 'But you know I have to go. My home's in Arizona.'

Lia grimaces. 'I know. It sucks that you have to leave. You'll visit, right?'

'Right.'

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><p>Her finger presses into the doorbell, and we both hear the ring go through the house. Footsteps trample through, and then a shadow appears through the thickly-glassed window beside the door. The door itself opens, revealing a handsome young man with unruly blonde hair and a strong, broad-shouldered figure. His face immediately brightens when his brown eyes land upon Lia, and he pulls her into his arms at once.<p>

'Derek!' she squeals. She leans in for a kiss, and I feel a twinge of jealousy at the connection between them. It disappears quickly, replaced with slight irritation; it's dreadfully obvious who's going to become the third wheel in this situation.

Thirty seconds later, they're still going at it (but _it _seems to include tongue, now. Ugh), with no regard to my presence.

I clear my throat loudly and purposefully. Neither of them break apart. I do it again, with the same result. The _third_ time, I actually have some success.

Lia breaks away from the young man's mouth and looks at me. Her hair's tousled and her lips are red and swollen.

'Oh, Max!' she exclaims. I purse my lips, and she grins sheepishly, a blush coloring her cheeks. 'Uh, Max, this is Derek. Derek, this is Max. We came here together.'

Derek looks disappointed at the lack of female saliva entering his mouth, but he's polite enough. 'Hey,' he says gruffly, before turning and kissing Lia's neck.

Yeah. _Reeal_ polite.

'Derek!' Lia scolds, but she doesn't hide her giggle. She pushes him away and takes his hand instead. 'May we come in?'

'Sure,' he says, turning and leading the way inside. I follow grumpily behind the couple.

'You hungry, babe?' he asks Lia, and I frown at his retreating back. _What about Miss Max here, eh, BUD?_

'I guess,' she replies. 'I don't have any of my stuff, though,' she adds. 'There was sort of an ... accident ... and we lost it all.' She grimaces. 'At least I'm staying here for a while.'

Derek grunts. 'What about her?' He jerks his thumb back to me, and I fully scowl.

'I'm leaving in a few. I'm only here because of Lia.' I turn my head to the side. 'You make me want to go faster, actually, so I'd better hurry.' I pulled my jacket tightly around me and took a few steps back the way we came. 'Later, Li.'

'Aw, no, Max!' she cries. She follows me back down the hallway and to the front door. 'Don't go so soon,' she pleads.

'I don't like him,' I state. 'I'm not going to question you, but just ... be careful, okay? I have a bad feeling about him.' And it's true. He doesn't seem right.

Lia looks at me curiously. Her hands take mine and squeeze. 'Okay, Max.' She glances back, and her eyes catch on Derek's form, fumbling about in the kitchen. A moment later, her eyes return to me. 'You be careful out there.'

My mouth twitches up into a half smile. 'I'll try.'

'Good.' She pulls me into a hug. 'Keep in contact. You know my number — just get a new phone and call me, alright? Don't get into trouble, you!' Her green eyes look sad.

'How can I get into more trouble than I already have?' I tease. With a sigh, I pull back and step out the door. 'Bye, Lia.'

'Bye,' she murmurs, and then the door closes, and she's gone. Left with not much choice, I walk back the way we came and launch into the air, away from watchful eyes. My hawklike wings beat the air around my body as I shoot through the sky, heading back home to who-knows-what.

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><p><em><strong>How do you check the number of hits to your stories? This is a serious question, haha. I see people who say in their ANs, "Oh, yay, this story has 3 104 hits!" but I don't even know how you check! The one to answer correctly can get a prize :3.<strong>_

_**Oh, and since you're all losers (kidding, kidding ...) and the only one who checked it out was MidnightStarlightxoxo, here's an excerpt from my HP drabble series. You don't have to know anything about HP to read these, actually. They don't mention names much.**_

_She treated it like a game._

_He would run after her just like all the other boys, gaze at her when he thought she and her friends weren't looking. He'd try to talk to her and try to express his feelings, but he was shy – it was how it had always been. And she was like a tongue of flame, licking up his body and filling him with heat and making sweat drip down his spine._

_And then she'd walk away with a laugh and a flip of her hair, and she would score another point in this cruel game while he prepared himself for the next round._

_**Review!**_

_**- J**_


	12. A Party? Oh No

_**Last night I published a one-shot called The Sky's Teardrops, and I'm actually overjoyed at what the reviews say. I lay there for a while, mindblown. Thank you guys so much! Having one of my stories called the "by FAR the best piece" that they've "ever read" ... it's unimaginable. Thank you so much.**_

**_You guys should go check it out! And, if not, just read the reviews. They made my heart swell. ^.^_**

**— A PARTY? OH, GOD NO —**

I gingerly open the door, watching it swing open to reveal the familiar setting of my house. A tiny smile finds its way onto my lips — _home._

Light washes out from the kitchen, breaking the shadows. I step forward and peer in, but nobody's inside. I grimace. Okay, then.

I hike up the stairs once I've confirmed that nobody else is down there. Mom's room is closest; before entering, I quickly check my eyes. Thankfully, they're still a safe shade of chocolate.

'Mom?' I whisper, as I twist the knob and allow myself in. No lights are on, yet I can see a form curled up under the sheets of the bed. With a slight smile I step out, recognizing the faint snores coming from the person under the covers. _She's asleep,_I think warmly.

A fast-paced beat comes from Iggy's room, where light can be seen leaking out from underneath the door. I push the door open and grin at the sight of my brother, dancing about the room without a care in the world and singing merrily out of tune.

The song changes to a slower, more peaceful tune, along with Iggy's movements. He starts to waltz by himself, quietly echoing the words.

'Don't forget me, I beg, I remember you said ... sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead — AH!' He spots me and jumps about a foot in the air. The whole time I was struggling to keep my face blank, but at his shock I burst into hysterical laughter.

'Aha! Ahaha! Hahaha!' I have to lean against the wall so as not to collapse and literally pull a ROFL.

Oh yeah. I went there.

'Uh, hey, Max,' Iggy says sheepishly, once I've somewhat calmed. 'You're back.'

'Nah,' I respond sarcastically, 'I'm actually way back in Ontario biding my time and the person you see is really Barack Obama in disguise.'

He rolls his eyes. 'Shh. How you been, li'l sis?'

'Eh.' I shrug. 'Canada's exciting.'

'How is that you always end up somewhere that nobody ever expects you to be and you're so damn calm about it?' he asks incredulously. 'First New York, now Toronto ... you're insane.'

'Hey, I made my way to Miami, too.'

He perks up. 'Really? Did you bring me any strippers?'

I raise an eyebrow. 'What happened to Victoria?'

'She won't mind,' he declares, promptly turning and switching off the radio. He jumps onto his bed and looks up at me.

I come to join him, pulling a pillow up to my chest. We sit in silence for a moment, until Iggy speaks.

'You know, it's different with her,' he murmurs. 'She really, truly makes me happy. Even when we get angry at one another, which we have.' He half-smiles.

I smile, too. 'It's good you've found someone.' My mind switches to Fang, and I angrily force it back on topic. _No, Max._

'Yeah,' he grins. A glimmer of his usual quirky mischief appears in his eyes. He digs into one of the front pockets of his jeans, drawing out a silver lighter.

'Iggy,' I warn, 'you're not smoking, are you?'

He snorts. 'No. I've been trying out some new experiments with, uh, your friend, Gazzy.'

I raise a disbelieving eyebrow. 'You made friends ... with one of my friends?'

'Well, he shares the same interests as me,' defends Iggy, 'and he's the only one who really gets the fire-ness. Apart from you, of course,' he adds quickly.

'Right.' I look ahead. _Classic Iggy_. 'So, how'd you ...'

'He came over with Nudge to see if you were here, and when he saw me with one of my ... _devices_—' he coughs sheepishly — 'he just came and joined in. Nudge sorta just stood there, then left.' He shrugs.

I shake my head and laugh incredulously. 'Of course. I should've known. So, why'd you bring out the lighter?'

'Because ...' He stands and smooths the wrinkles from the grey denim of his pants, then hurries over to his desk. He grabs a spoon and a bowl, and quickly starts to scarf down some food.

'Uh, Igs?' I take a few steps closer, peering at the curiously orange, lumpy contents of the bowl. 'What — what's that?'

'Baked beans,' he says, through a mouthful. 'To make you fart.'

My eyes widen and I take a few steps back. 'I'll see you later, Iggy ...'

'No!' Some food dribbles down his chin, and he hurriedly wipes it. 'No, I've gotta show you! It's brilliant!'

'Okay,' I squeak, covering my mouth and nose for safety.

He finishes and drops the bowl with a _clang! _back onto his desk. 'Alright, so, I need your help,' he starts. 'Please come and hold the lighter about five, six inches from my butt. Be careful to keep your hands and fingers totally away from the flame when it's lit.'

'Oh, god, Igs.' I have a sneaking suspicion of what he's going to attempt, but come and do what he says anyway, pressing the button that springs the lid up and causes the flame to light.

'It on?' he asks.

'Yeah.' I groan. 'You have _got_to be kidding me.'

'Nope!' he says cheerfully. 'Now, you might wanna hold your breath for precaution ...'

I don't even bother to question his motives this time.

'Three! Two! One!' He screws up his face in concentration and then literally _lets it rip._

It was the most horrific moment I ever experienced.

There's a gigantic noise, too. You know those apps foriPhone and iPad, right? Where you press the buttons and it makes all this different farting noises? Well, this was like the worst one of them ... times fifty.

'YEAH!' cheers Iggy, as the gas catches the flame and a massive jet of blue, green and orange fire shoots off from the lighter.

I scream shrilly and let go of the button; the jet of fire disappears swiftly.

'Aw!' whines Iggy. 'Why'd you stop?'

I roll my eyes, resignedly handing him the heated lighter. 'Sometimes you act older than your age, and sometimes you act, like, twenty years younger.'

'You learn to love all this.' He winks.

'You wish,' I snort, exiting. 'See you in the morning, Iggy.'

* * *

><p>'We should all go visit Jason today,' Mom suggests. 'We haven't done it as a family yet, and Aunt Elaine said that he's awake and well.'<p>

'Sounds good,' Iggy responds, through a mouthful of cereal.

'Mmm,' I agree, deciding to be more polite and wait until I've swallowed to speak. I gulp down my toast. 'What time?'

'Maybe ... four-thirty? Then you can settle once you get back from school, but we can still go while it's light out,' Mom muses.

'Sure, but I've got work at eight,' I tell her, 'just in case you wanted to stay for ... three-and-a-half hours.'

'That's okay,' she says. 'You should catch up with that young doctor after. What was his name? Arnie?'

_'Ash,_' I say. 'And yeah, maybe.'

Iggy raises an eyebrow. 'Who is this _Ash_?' he asks. 'Is my little sister having a bit of _romance_?' He pokes me teasingly.

'Shut up,' I mumble, blushing furiously. Iggy notices and cackles.

'_Maw_, little sissy's got a crush!' He pretends to shed a loving tear; I shoot him an icy glare.

'You can talk,' I say coldly. He falls silent, but his smirk remains.

Mom hides her grin behind her hand. 'Anyway,' she goes, 'Jason told me he's bought you your birthday present, Max, and will give it to you today, if you'd like.'

'Oh, no, Mom!' I complain. 'I told you I didn't want you to waste your money —'

'We're not,' she says, smiling. 'And we're not taking them back, so you're just going to have to live with it.'

'Yeah!' crows Iggy. 'Go Mom!' He slaps her a high-five, and I roll my eyes. Child at heart.

'I'm going to go take a shower,' I say, getting to my feet and taking my empty plate to the sink.

'Don't take five hours this time,' my brother calls. 'Water _is _valuable!'

'You're not,' I retort. Mom laughs and congratulates me as I hike the stairs.

* * *

><p>I free myself of the binds of my clothes, then twist the knobs of the shower until the water hits a temperature to my liking. I stepped in, closing my eyes and tilting my head back as the water flowed over my body, easing my knotted muscles and smoothing the tangles of my hair.<p>

I sigh contentedly and rub the dirt from my skin. It's only now that I realize just how tense I've been over the past few days; I press a spot in my shoulder, and the knot screams in protest. I cringe and withdraw the hand, but the heated, steaming water helps me to relax.

_There must be a few things a hot shower can't fix_, I think vaguely, _but I don't know many._

After a few minutes of simply standing under the hot jet, I squirt shampoo into my hand and began to rub it into my hair. I rake my fingers through the locks, encasing them completely in foamy whiteness. I then tilt my head back into the water and let it wash out, repeating the process soon after with the conditioner.

It doesn't take long for me to make my way out. _I bet Iggy's surprised_, I think dryly. I dry myself off and go back to my bedroom, the oversized towel wrapped safely around my body as I search through the drawers for a suitable outfit.

Eventually I find one: skinny, light grey jeans; a loose grey Sloppy Joe, off one shoulder, with the word "LUCKY" written in black; a greyscale SnapBack; and baby pink Uggboots ... just 'cause.

My eyes flick to the clock on my bedside table — **7:56. **I huff out a breath and leave the room, ruffling my damp hair with my hands as I trot cheerfully down the stairs.

'Lift my world into the sunlight!' Iggy sings, dancing about the kitchen with a knife. My eyes widen. 'Make me scream the best I —"

'Iggy,' I say, 'put — the knife — _down_.'

He lowers it slowly, his expression mortified. I snigger.

'I liked your singing, Ig,' I comment. 'Why'd you stop?'

His cheeks redden. 'I like Jessie J, okay?'

'Nothing wrong with that!' I giggle. 'It's just the singing.'

He rolls his eyes. 'Don't you have school to go to?'

'I'm a drummer boy so do it, do it,' I rap, skipping out the kitchen and jumping onto the couch, in a strangely happy mood.

'Justin Bieber, Max?'

I just grin at him, then walk out the front door with a goodbye shout to my mother.

* * *

><p>'MAX!' screams Nudge, running up and launching herself onto me in a hug. 'Where've you <em>been<em>? Well, more like _why_ have you been ... _Canada_, Max!'

I laugh. 'Yup. I went to a party and woke up in a completely different country.' I pause. 'It was really shiny.'

She giggles, hugging me a second time. 'We've all missed you. So much happened when you were gone — Tessa's mom eloped!'

I guffawed. 'Seriously?'

'Seriously! And — _hey_!'

Glancing at her oddly, I ask, 'What?'

'It's your _birthday_tomorrow!'

'No joke,' I say dryly.

'That's so _exciting_! You _need_ a party!' We start to walk the rest of the way to the school, and Nudge rambles, 'I can organize it with Lissie and JJ, if you want. There has to be _heaps_of balloons — did you know they're really popular at parties lately? And we can invite — all of us, obviously, our group — and Dan, Steph, Sarah, John, Oskar, Violet, Angus ...'

She trails on, reciting an endless list of familiar and unfamiliar names before going onto the scenery and decorations. 'We can do it at my house,' she decides. 'That way we can hold it in the family room, people can swim if they'd like to, they can also go outside, we can have a barbecue, _and_we could still dance and go crazy! Mom loves hosting parties.'

Grinning, I say, 'I love your mom.'

Nudge's mother, Annalise, is the kind of woman who everybody just _loves_. She's funny, excitable, young, lively, bubbly and conversational. The first time I went to Nudge's place, back when I'd just reached double digits, I was anticipating an awkward introduction with the parents before Nudge and I ran up to her bedroom and locked ourselves in. Instead, her mom made me feel happy and at home.

Three years later, Nudge's parents divorced — though why her father would want to leave Annalise, I don't know. He was so worked up over the whole incident that he left completely. Nudge hasn't seen or heard of him since — she knows what I'm going through without my father and helps me through it, having gone through her dad's absence before ... only in her case, he never came back. I still don't know the outcome with my own dad.

I tune back in to Nudge's incessant babble. '... we could even try and hook Niri up with your brother, because _everyone_ knows she's into him. He _is_hot. Age difference? Psh.' Nudge jokes. I grin, but it then turns into a repulsed cringe.

'What is it?' Nudge queries.

'My brother is _not_ even _remotely_attractive,' I inform her. 'And even the thought of girls liking him is disgusting. Speaking of which, he has a girlfriend.'

'Really? Who?'

'A nurse from Ashford, called Victoria,' I say. 'But don't tell Niri. That'll be Victoria's death sentence.'

Nudge cackles. Like, she actually goes, 'Mwahahahaha!'

'Nudgelina ballerina,' I muse randomly, smiling at the name.

'That's cute,' she comments. There's a pause as we walk through the front gates and enter the stream of students. I spot Lissie and JJ at the same time they spot me, and they rush over at full speed.

'Max!' they chorus.

'You're back!'

'We thought you were dead!'

'Canada! I've always wanted to go to Canada —'

'Me too! But they're all bitter towards us sexy-ass Americans.'

'Yeah! Just because they have a _waterfall_—'

'— a really pretty waterfall —'

'— a really, _really _pretty waterfall —'

'— doesn't mean they're better than us!'

I snort. 'They're really not all that bad. Are the guys here yet?'

'Yeah, they're "chilling" inside," Lissie tells me. 'Dylan's not coming to school. Nudge, did you tell Max what happened?'

'What?' I look between them in confusion.

'You know how he's all gorgeous and all?'

'Uh, yeah?' I raise an eyebrow.

'He woo-hooed with a teacher, and Dr GH found out,' Nudge informs me. 'The teacher's going to court, and they still haven't figured out what to do with Dylan himself. And Dr GH _loves_Dylan, so the kid'll probably be worshipped instead of punished, unfortunately.'

'Whoa,' I say, shocked. 'Is it even the teacher's fault? Who was she?'

'Miss Sunderson,' JJ pipes. 'You know — wavy brown hair, brown eyes, mid-twenties? She's one of the English teachers for the freshmen and sophomores. And now she's going to court.'

'Well, it's not like she could do much,' Lissie says, grimacing sympathetically. 'Poor girl. No one can resist the Charm.'

'The Charm?'

'Well, yeah,' JJ says in a "duh" tone. 'Have you seen that boy in action? He's gorgeous _and _he sings like, maybe even _better _than all the One Direction boys _put together_. All together now — _amazing_!'

'I didn't even know anyone _could _be that good until Dylan,' sighs Lissie dreamily.

'Yeah, but he's a jerk,' chimes in Nudge.

'So what? He's hot! Jerk, shmerk.'

I roll my eyes at JJ, then look to Lissie. 'So what else went on in this city of fun?'

She snorts. 'More like city of _boring_. Since you left, math has gotten a billion times harder. And no, I'm not joking.'

'What? Why?'

'Exams coming up,' she sighs. 'Pretty much all classes have upped the anti.'

Nudge groans. 'It's horrible.'

'No kidding,' complains JJ. 'Oh, Max, I think all the teachers have a mountain of homework for you. Have fun!'

'Sure,' I mutter.

They laugh. 'Naw, poor Maxie,' pouts Nudge mockingly, patting me on the arm.

'No, it's alright,' I say cheerfully. 'I have a cheat.'

All three of them simultaneously raise their eyebrows. 'Cheat?' inquires JJ suspiciously.

'I met a guy —'

'Ooh!' they chorus.

'— who is only nineteen, I think, and is a professional doctor. He finished high school at the age of twelve.'

'Wow!' exclaims Lissie.

'So, a nerd,' Nudge clarifies.

'I guess, but not the stereotypical type,' I say.

'Well, is he a hot nerd?'

I grin. 'Hell to the yes.'

Nudge high-fives me. 'He into you?'

'I'd like to think so.'

'Yes!' she yells happily. They all shout in excitement.

'It's about time you got another boyfriend,' Lissie huffs. 'We've been waiting for eons, but no guy can meet the Max standards.'

'Except for maybe this doctor,' says JJ, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. 'Name?'

'Ash.'

'Ooh-la-la! Appearance?'

'Wavy brown hair that goes over one of his eyes, which are green. He's uber tanned and about ... six-two? Three? Four? I'm not sure, somewhere up there.'

'Very nice, then,' judges JJ. 'Build?'

'Slim, but not sticklike. Underlying muscle.'

'Out of ten?'

I ponder this for a few seconds. 'Hovering somewhere between eight and ten.'

'Wow!' goes Nudge. 'Max never rates guys that high!'

'He _must _be special!' Lissie decides.

About to shoot out a retort, I open my mouth — but my voice is cut out by the ring of the school bell. I give a small happy-dance at this, then run away before their interrogation can get any worse.

* * *

><p>'So, Max,' says Gazzy through a large mouthful of hotdog, 'tell us. How's Canada?'<p>

'Really good, actually!' I respond. 'I didn't stay long, and didn't sightsee, though.'

'That's okay,' he says. 'How'd you get back?'

'Yeah,' Nudge speaks up. 'One minute you're there, the next you're here! Iggy had no idea how you were going to get back.'

I absentmindedly note the very meager space between Gazzy and Nudge before replying, 'I met a waitress, and we drove. Well, we drove to Orlando, Florida, and I ... I, uh, caught a train back. It was surprisingly quick, actually. A matter of three days from Canada to Arizona.'

'Impressive.' Sam chugs down over half of his soda in one go, then looks back up with a belch. 'You should've gotten souvenirs. Or at least tried to find the home of Flo Rida. You know, Florida, Flo Rida?' He snorts and laughs giddily.

'What does lemonade do to the boy?' asks Lissie weakly.

'If only I knew,' I murmur in return. JJ hums to herself by my side, again clad in her pajamas and bare feet. She vacantly sucks on her braces, dusting her tongue over the colored brackets and catching it in the wire.

'Oh! Do you guys all wanna come to my place after school? We can chill out for a bit and then organize Max's birthday party!' Nudge claps to herself. 'And us girls can go find some really pretty things to wear, and ... oh, and we can invite people via Facebook tonight, then do some more tomorrow. You'll be surprised how fast news like this spreads, too. Most people will turn up.'

'You sound sure of yourself.' I raise an eyebrow in her direction. 'And besides, we really don't need a big thing. If it's just you guys, I'll be cool with it.'

'Aw, but we love you, Max!' chirps Lissie.

Nate says, 'A party'd be pretty cool. And it'd make your birthday more special, something to *really* remember.'

'Yes! Good work, N!' Nudge high-fives him and grins at me. 'So, what say you, Max? Will you consider it?'

I frown. 'I'm gonna have to be home early. I'm going to visit Dad with Mom and Igs.'

'That's okay. But _will you consider it_?'

'Fine. I'll _consider _it.'

* * *

><p>'There once was a boy named Harry, destined to be a star ...'<p>

'Nudge,' Lissie warns.

'His parents were killed by Voldemort who gave him a lightning scar ... Yo Harry. You're a wizard. Babababababababa ...'

'Oh, my god,' I groan.

'Harry goes to Hogwarts, he meets Ron and Hermione, McGonagall requires he play for Gryffindor ...'

'Nudge, seriously?' Nate rubs his temples.

'... Draco is a daddy's boy, Quirrell becomes unemployed, the sorcerer's stone is destroyed by Dumbledore.'

'Please, Nudge,' hisses Sam, 'be quiet.'

'Ron breaks his wand, now Ginny's gone and Harry's in mortal danger. Tom Riddle hides his snake inside his ginormous secret chamber ...'

'Nudge!' snaps Gazzy.

'Harry blows up Aunt Marge, the dementors come and take charge. Lupin is a wolf, the rat's a man and now the prisoner is at large ...'

'Holy shizzballs,' growls JJ. She shoves a marshmallow in her mouth and throws another at Nudge.

'They use time travel so they can save the prisoner of Azkaban who just so happens to be Harry's godfather – I don't really get it either.'

'Nudge!' explodes Sam.

'Yes?' She blinks up at him innocently.

'Shut. Up.'

'Well ...' She looks at all of us from her perch on a cushion. 'You can never really shut up. I mean, people always say it and intend the other person to close their mouth, but in reality their nose and ears and stuff are still open. So they can never really _shut_up. They can just be quiet. Only, breathing makes a sound, so would you have to stop breathing, too? That's confusing.'

I shake my head in exasperation. 'Oh, my lord, Nudge. How do you even think of these things?'

She shrugs. 'I'm imaginative.'

'That's one word for it,' Gazzy mutters.

'Anyway! If everyone wants to stop being rude —' Nudge shoots pointed glares at Sam and Gazzy — 'we can begin this meeting.'

'Meeting?'

'We've got drinks, biscuits, and we're all gathered in a circle. It looks like a meeting to me.' She shrugs and tosses back her dark, straightened hair. 'We need to figure out Max's party.'

'I've got an idea!' JJ squeals. 'It can be like one of those Sweet Sixteenth parties, but a year late! And she can be a princess on a giant elephant or something, and it can be pink themed, and there can be mermaids in shells and we'd spend heaps on the decorations, and —'

'No,' Sam, Nate, Gazzy and I say in unison. I smirk and continue, 'Don't I get a say in this at all?'

'Of course not!' gasps Nudge, as if this is dreadfully obvious.

'Well, even if I don't, I totally forbid a pretty pink princess party.' I glance sternly at JJ. 'We're ruling out that option completely.'

'I quite liked it,' she says.

'I have an idea that isn't totally messed up,' says Lissie. 'We already decided to hold it at Nudge's right?'

There are various sounds of agreement across the room.

'And Nudge already stated that she wants an overabundance of balloons, capiche?'

'Yeah,' I say hesitantly. 'What're you getting at, Liss?'

She leans forward. 'Listen here ...'

* * *

><p><em><strong>Once again, my apologies if the italics messed up. Fanfiction tends to do that to me a lot.<strong>_

_**Follow me on Twitter and I'll follow you back, pinky swear. I'm **_**aenean_and_lux, **_**to those who are wondering. And if that disappeared because of the "at" symbol, I'll write it again here –**_** aenean_and_lux.**

_**Review! It bugs me when people subscribe or favourite but don't bother to review. Hell, just a simple smiley face would be appreciated.**_

_**-J**_


	13. Ancient

_**Okay, reading through my past chapters, just ignore my old author's notes. I sounded like a dweeb.**_

* * *

><p>I walk slowly into the kitchen and rub a hand over my eyes, heavy from lack of sleep. My mouth stretches wide in a yawn, and I hear a small laugh.<p>

'Morning, Max,' smiles Mom. She comes forward to hug me. 'Happy birthday!'

I stop for a second, having woken without realizing that it was the _big _day. I grimace as I figure that it's only three years until I'm twenty, if I make it that far. _Hot damn._

'Thanks, Mom,' I say, as she beams at me.

'Seventeen!' she exclaims. 'My first girl is seventeen.' She strokes a tangled strand of my hair behind my ear.

'Shh!' I hiss. 'No one can know ...'

She laughs. 'What's wrong with that?'

'I'm so .. I'm so ...' I look around, just to check no one besides my mom is listening. 'I'm so _old_!'

'Old?' She barks a laugh. 'Are you kidding? Wait until you're my age until you go around saying things like that.' A genuine grin blossoms on her face, stretching her lips taut. 'But before then, you need your presents! Go wake your brother, then come down and we can shower you in gifts.'

'Mom ...' I whine, 'I told you —'

'Not to waste money, I know, I know. And you know the drill: we aren't spending the big bucks in vain. Even your father tried to make you see that, but _noo_! Max is so humble and selfless that she can never accept charity. Am I right?' Mom rolls her eyes and laughs lightly.

The side of my mouth twitches up in the beginnings of a smile. 'Shh ...'

'Well, hurry your curry! You know how much Dad wanted you to open his present.'

Yesterday afternoon, when we went to see Dad, I was expecting the worst, as was Iggy. Mom was in an oddly cheerful mood and kept telling us to brighten up, but I felt like a downer. Added to the strain of my birthday party and the whole ordeal with Fang (which I was desperately trying not to think about), my muscles were coiled with hidden anxiety and stress.

However, when we entered Dad's ward (guided by Ash, to my mom's delight), we found him sitting up and intently watching a rowdy game of football. 'Come on, Cowboys!' he cheered.

I took a tentative step in. 'Hey, Dad,' I greeted quietly.

He looked at me and smiled, waving happily. His blue eyes were bright, and an empty bowl sat by his side. 'Hey, Max, Ig, Val!' he said, appearing overjoyed to see us. 'Come watch the match with me, will you?'

Later, Ash had pulled me aside and said, 'I hear it's your birthday tomorrow.'

'Who told you that?' I'd asked.

'Your parents wouldn't stop gushing about it a few minutes ago, and you told me last time we met, remember?' He laughed. I smiled at him and nodded.

'Yeah, but don't spread the news,' I told him.

He raked a hand through his hair. 'I was wondering ... do you wanna catch up in the afternoon? It's okay if you don't —'

'I'm probably going to be busy at that time.' I smiled apologetically, but then my eyes lit up. 'Actually, I'm having a party at my friend's house. Feel free to come along. I can text you the details, if you want, and you can bring a friend along so you're not totally lonely.'

'That'd be great,' he said, grinning. At a loud burst of laughter from inside the ward, Ash said, 'His condition has been looking up lately. We think the cancer's getting better — though that won't stop the operations — and his mental state has definitely improved. He's so happy to have you guys here.'

'It's much different from last time I visited,' I'd sighed. 'He was ... well, disorientated, for one.'

Ash nodded in agreement. 'We're all surprised and totally over the moon about the improvements. The changes became visible a few days back, and since then the sun hasn't stopped shining, really.'

And it was true. For the rest of the visit, no one even stopped smiling. Dad's vibrance and joy was contagious. It was strange; last time I'd seen him, I couldn't find my father at all. This time, the familiar mischievous spark was back in his eye, and it truly, truly felt as if my dad had returned.

And he has.

* * *

><p>'HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU —'<p>

'Nudge! Could you _get _any louder?' I snap.

She giggles. 'Yup. _HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR MAXIE …'_

I groan and playfully hit her on the arm. 'You suck. Don't go shouting about it to everyone, okay?'

Nudge snorts. 'You're not the oldest, Max. There are loads of eighteen-year-olds, and you're definitely not the first junior to turn one-seven. And then there's the teachers ...' She widens her eyes and shakes her head. 'Look to _them _if you wanna see old.'

I roll my eyes. 'Yeah, yeah.'

'So, what'd you get?'

'... Stuff.'

'Max.' She looks at me sternly.

'Fine!' I huff impatiently. 'Clothes, a necklace, few bracelets, food, food, food, a couple books, decorations, perfume ... you know, stuff like that.'

Her eyes widen. 'How much shit did you _get_?'

'It's from the extended family as well, plus other friends. Not just Mom, Dad and La Igster.' I play with a strand of my hair, the whole tangled mess left down for the day. 'I didn't need that much.'

'What did your dad get you? You said he was really eager for you to open his present.'

I hold out my arm for her to examine his gift. It's an ornate silver bracelet, meaningful words carved on all opposite sides, weaved through vine-like patterns in the metal. On one end, a winged heart hung free, a shimmering sapphire set into its centre.

'It's so pretty!' Nudge gasps. 'How much would this have cost him? Thousands, I'd say. It's so fine!' She brings my wrist closer for her to peer at the accessory. 'Jealous! Whoa ...' She lets go and glances up at a loud shriek. 'Aw, hell to the no! It's —'

'JJ! WAIT UP!'

I look up to see JJ sprinting at me full-speed, Lissie trailing behind with her flaming red hair streaming back in the wind. My face breaks into a bright smile and the sight of the two of them running along the asphalt.

I'm soon thrown back by JJ ramming herself into me, screaming, 'MAX! MAX, MAX, MAXIE-MAX! YOU SO OLD, GIRL!'

Lissie joins in next, turning the hug into a tight group one and yelling, 'SEVENTEEN! You know, there's a song called "seventeen". It's really repetitive, though. Uh, no offense ...?' She looks at our faces and backtracks quickly. 'Sorry, sorry. Happy birthday, Max! You're as old as Sam, Nate and JJ now! This is _so exciting_! And we can all rock our socks off at your killer party tonight.' She winks cheesily.

Nudge swiftly delves into one of her endless tirades. 'That party will be amazing! And in two months and thirteen days we can have another joint one for Gazzy and I! See, Liss, I _can _use good English.' She sighed, and then sung, '_I only miss you when I'm breathing ... _That song is legendary. Seriously. But the video clip is so, so whack. Have you seen it? I reckon he got some ideas from _Disturbia. _You know, Rihanna's one? Anyway! Lissie, how're you and Keeves going? You said you thought he liked you, right?' Lissie opens her mouth to answer, but Nudge continues to babble ceaselessly. 'Well, Gazzy and I are fantastic! He asked me out last night, Max, after you left. We're going on a date tomorrow, when it gets dark. But tonight's the _really _important evening! We've already got lots of people coming to the party. Facebook is _super _effective! I mean —' She's abruptly cut off when Gazzy himself comes up from behind her and slaps his hand over her mouth, us having reached the school gates.

'Hrr, Grfg,' she says, her words muffled. 'Lrgrb!'

Lissie snorts and JJ giggles, while Gazzy and I just smirk. 'Totally!' chirps Liss.

JJ nods fervently. 'I agree wholeheartedly, Nudge.'

Nudge huffs out a loud breath through her nose while simultaneously clawing at Gazzy's hand. He lets go after a few seconds, and Nudge sinks to her knees, puffing exaggeratedly.

'That,' she begins, through heavy breaths, 'was one of the worst things I've ever experienced.'

'We do it to you every day,' Sam grins. 'Build a bridge —'

'And get over it,' chorus the rest of us, excluding Nudge herself. She shoots us all death glares.

'You four suck,' she pouts, but then looks at me and ponders this for a moment. 'Well, since it's your birthday, Max,' she eventually says, 'you don't suck today. You will tomorrow, though,' she adds warningly. I snigger.

'As will you, Nudgey,' I say, smirking. 'As will you.'

* * *

><p>Recess comes in a hurry. The whole day, I've been experiencing irritating itches from my back, my wings. I've tried not to react, but when the bell rings I can help rushing to the bathroom.<p>

My French class was let out early, so the girls' toilets were empty. I inch my hoodie and shirt up to reveal my back, but my wings look entirely normal – or, as entirely normal as wings can look on human. I growl and itch the tip of one wing before stopping myself, knowing that if I keep going I wouldn't be able to stop.

'I wish they'd just ... _go away_,' I say irritably, still staring over my shoulder into the mirror. I yank the hem of my hoodie back down to my hips and start to storm off, but then the rippling itch across my wings becomes unbearable and I fall to my knees, scrunching up my face in pain.

It doesn't exactly _hurt_, as my wings retract into my back. It's just uncomfortable, unnatural. It feels as if my skin is tearing open and closing over again, minus the blood and agony. Just a horrid itch.

Once the itch has resided, I get to my feet on shaky legs and lift my hoodie back up to peer at my back. The skin is smooth, clear, but now a tattoo sits on the small of my back – the perfect, shrunk copy of my wings.

My eyes widen in panic, and in my mind, I yelp, _What's going on? _I squeeze my lids shut and wish for my wings to return. To my surprise – and horror – they come back through my skin. Luckily, the itch is slightly less unpleasant this time around.

'Holy shit,' I whisper. 'My wings are ... retractable.'

* * *

><p>After a long seven hours of birthday wishes and unrelenting schoolwork, the day draws to a close. As soon as the home bell rings Nudge jumps to her feet and squeals in excitement. The teacher tells her to hush and some students give her strange looks as they stand from their seats, but what did she care?<p>

She links arms with mine and, bouncing like a newborn, pulls me out of the emptying classroom. I hurry to keep up with her set pace as she rushes down the corridor.

'Nudge, where are you going?' I ask when, instead of emerging into the fresh air and sunlight, she continues down the corridor.

'We're picking up Lissie and JJ from German, of course,' she scoffs. 'Frau Schuetze always lets them out late.'

'Yeah, but they get to do lucky dips,' I pointed out, as we come to a stop in front of G67. Nudge tries to peer through the fogged window, but her attempts are futile due to the misted quality of the glass.

'It's better when you do them in kindergarten,' she mutters. She's always had a thing against Frau Schuetze and her classes - apparently this is some "long-ago grudge" that befell her when she had bad luck in one of the dips. Instead of picking out a candy or keyring or blue felt pen, the most common prizes, she drew out a huge, writhing black spider which had taken refuge in the darkness of the dip-box.

Not only did Nudge quit German after that, but developed severe arachnophobia.

The door swings open and hits the wall beside it with a clang. Frau Schuetze stands before us, a frown on her wrinkled face.

'Do you have business here, girls?' she inquires in an icy tone, her accent thick upon her tongue.

'No, ma'am,' I say quickly, before Nudge can jump in with a crude comment. 'We were just waiting for our friends.'

Frau Schuetze sniffs haughtily. 'That is reasonable, I suppose.' With a heavy sigh, she calls to the class, 'Four thousand word essay due Friday, written solely about the wars! Write as much as you can in German. If you don't, marks may be taken from you. You are dismissed.'

JJ and Lissie are the first to run from the room, almost colliding into us. 'Let's go!' they chorus. They practically haul me back down the corridors, the stairs and outside.

'What time is it?' pants Nudge, having ran ahead while JJ and Lissie chattered excitedly behind, their arms gripping mine so tight I couldn't have escaped if I wanted to. I suppose that was the point.

JJ released me and checked her phone, sliding the shining BlackBerry from her pocket. 'Three fifty-two,' she informed us.

Lissie waggles her eyebrows. 'Very flashy,' she teases. JJ sticks her tongue out in response.

Nudge huffs impatiently and looks at all of us with wide eyes. 'C'mon, let's go!'

* * *

><p>I pull down my skirt in discomfort. 'Nudge,' I whine, 'why do I have to wear this?'<p>

She dismisses me with a wave of her hand. 'You look hot.' She spins in a circle and then comments to Gazzy, 'Good job with the balloons.'

He nods in acknowledgement.

Bright red streamers hang from the ceiling and slid across the floor, accompanied by a truckload of black and white balloons. The lights are off except for a dim one in the middle of Nudge's dining room, and the cafe doors leading outside all wide open.

The trees in Nudge's garden are draped with red ribbons, streamers and white fairylights. The whole setting was dim, and two stereos - one outside, one in - blasted a popular song in perfect synchronization. Across the island counter in Nudge's kitchen lie bowls of food, only two containing anything remotely healthy.

I hitch up my dress again, then change my mind and pull it down by the hem of the skirt.

Nudge looks at me sternly. 'Max, you look great. Stop fidgeting.' I raise a hand up to brush down some hair, but she hits it away. '_Max._'

'Sorry,' I grumble, fighting not to fumble with my heels or comb my fingers through my straightened locks.

I'm dressed in one of Nudge's old, tight black ballet leotards, with a black cape skirt over the top, beginning at my waist. The skirt is too revealing for my taste; the top layer is sheer and my legs are clearly visible. Underneath, a small black skirt is all that hides parts I really didn't want seen from view.

A large brown cross dangles from my neck, on the end of a lengthy string of teal beads. My wrists were bare, but halfway up my arm a silver band clings tightly. My feet are clad in high black ankle Susie boots, which Nudge had spent an hour teaching me to walk in.

My blond hair hangs straight and long to my waist, the front bits pinned back to form a sort of circlet. Lissie had taken pride in the way she'd styled my hair, but had reluctantly allowed JJ to do my makeup, which was minimal.

Nudge, JJ and Lissie all look gorgeous. Nudge wears a shimmery, loose silver dress, leaving her legs bare. Her silver heels are towering, and her glittery makeup finishes the look well. 'You look like a fairy,' I'd said, the first time I lay eyes on her in her outfit.

Lissie's dress is form-fitting and covered in tribal patterns. It looks a bit like an elongated tank top, but the back is covered in elegant patterns that leave her skin exposed.

Finally, JJ wears a pretty black blouse that exposes some of her midriff before her tight, short white skirt begins at her waist. Her heels are black and tall, and her wrists are covered in black and white bangles and bracelets that chime when they hit one another.

The boys all look boyishly handsome, in button-down shirts or their best casual clothes. It's only ever the girls that go over the top in these kinds of parties – the boys just dress as well as they see fit.

The doorbell rings at last, and we all exchange excited grins. Nudge and I run as well as we can in our heels to the door and swing it open.

And hence the party begins.

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><p><em><strong>This is fairly filler and pretty short (for my standards, at least!), but the party is actually somewhat significant so stick with me. <strong>_

_**Shout-out to lillianeherondale for being fantastic :).**_

**_- J_**


	14. Mistakes

**Okay, guys. I'm sorry. No Fang in this chapter. And I know I'm going to get some hate for this one. Heh. Heh. Well, before that happens, thanks so much again to ****lillianeherondale**** (I love you so much!), ****MidnightStarlight**** (who still hasn't PM'd me back) and ****It's Fnicking Awesomness****, who seriously is full of fnicking awesomeness. Go check her stories out – especially considering I ****beta ****for one! You guys are all amazing reviewers and helped contribute to the hundred-plus reviews this story now has.**

**So, there's about … five or six chapters to go until this story concludes, including epilogue. Which means that it'll probably finish up at about twenty chapters. Considering the length of my chapters, though, it actually isn't that short. Hah. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>The music blares loudly, but by now everyone is used to it. I squeeze my way through the throng of dancing people, some that wave hellos to me or hug happy birthdays. Somewhere in the mix are Nudge, JJ and Lissie, but I don't go to them.<p>

Outside, the abundance of teenagers has only lessened slightly, but at least there's some walking space. My eyes catch on Ash, standing side by side with his plus one, but he doesn't notice me. I start to walk over, using my free hand as a fan to ward off the heat while my other clutches a cookie.

He sees me and waves, a grin on his lips. I smile back, watching as his friend elbows him and wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. Ash rolls his eyes at the friend.

'Hey, Max,' he says. 'This is Louis.'

Louis looks at me, using one hand to rake through his blond hair as he holds the other out for me to shake. He smirks, looking at me through his eyelashes. 'Hey,' he says lowly.

Ash snorts. 'He's a bit of a pervert, by the way. And I think he has a thing for you.'

I laugh and Louis glares at Ash. 'You suck, bro.'

'Proud,' comes Ash's swift reply.

I absentmindedly take a bite of my cookie. 'I can go, if you want ...' I take a few steps back.

'No! Stay,' Ash says, a hand coming out to pull me back before withdrawing on a second thought. I come over and smile at the ground, looking at my hands and feeling flattered by his protest.

Louis grins devilishly and says, 'I should go, but ... keep it PG, guys.' Then he scurries off, leaving me blushing and Ash shaking his head in silent amusement.

'I've been wanting to talk to you for a while, tonight,' he says, once we're both certain that Louis is gone.

'Oh,' I say, a bit startled. 'Is it bad?'

He sniggers. 'No.'

'Oh,' I repeat.

'I just wanted to chat,' he says with a grin. 'Nothing serious.'

So we chat, and I laugh and he grins and for just a little while, he makes me feel somewhat normal.

But I don't really register it, at first, when his lips touch mine.

My breathing hitches and I'm shocked, but I slide my hands over his shoulders and let one knot in the waves of his hair anyway. He smiles against my mouth and pulls me close by the waist. He tastes like sprinkles, and the feel of his lips massaging my own is ... fantastic, really. Luckily, the tree we stand by shelters us from too many prying eyes, but I can hear the catcalls and wolf whistles from a group of guys not too far away.

I reluctantly pull away from Ash and smile up at him, before glaring over my shoulder at the guys. They smirk and grin and wave at us oh-so-innocently, and I realize that one of them is my brother. I roll my eyes at him and turn back to Ash, whose face is disappointed. I take his hand.

'Let's go upstairs,' I suggest. 'Get some privacy.'

His eyes light up and he smiles back, squeezing my fingers and following my lead. As we make our way back through the family room, Nudge catches my eye. She gives a huge, cheesy wink and laughs, slapping her thigh. It doesn't take too long to figure she's a tad tipsy.

Upstairs, I knock on the door of Nudge's bedroom and, when there's no reply, I inch it slowly open. The room's empty.

I face Ash and grab his other hand, pulling him back into the room with me. He pushes the door shut with his back, then spins me around and pins me against the dark wood, kissing me hotly. I run my hands along his chest and groan, eliciting just the response that I want from him and his kisses.

I gasp against his lips when thoughts of Fang pervade my mind. I've been trying my hardest not to think of him – and when I do, only with insults – so I force the thoughts away, immersing myself in Ash so as to keep pictures of Fang from plaguing me.

Despite my efforts, the thoughts return and with ease break down the walls I'd constructed to keep them out. I hate myself for wishing it was Fang whose tongue wrestled with mine, Fang who held me close and mussed up my hair, Fang who laughed and smiled with me under that tree. But he isn't here, no matter how much I want him to be.

I open my eyes a slit, a little bit startled to find myself on the bed with Ash on top of me, but I don't protest. However, the man who holds me in his embrace doesn't _appear _to be Ash – he has unruly black hair, enviously long eyelashes just the same color, olive skin and a five-oh-clock shadow that scratches away at my skin as one of his hands rubs my upper thigh. I gasp.

A sense of wrongness comes over me, and I know then that my own wishful thinking and maybe even some accidental alcohol have been distorting my senses. I shut my eyes tight and push Ash away, feeling horrible, but when I open my eyes the wavy brown hair, hazel eyes and clear, tanned skin have returned.

'What's wrong?' he pants, out of breath.

'Ash ...' I start, feeling guilty. 'Ash, I can't ...'

I force back tears from my confusion and scramble off the bed, running as well as I can down the stairs and to Lissie in my heels.

She's the first person I see who I know can offer me comfort, and when I arrive at her side she's in a fit of hysterical laughter with a blond, babyish-looking boy I vaguely remember to be called Dan. As soon as she sees my state her expression falls and she wraps an arm around my waist, taking me away.

'Honey, what is it?' she asks gently, brushing down some of my now-messy hair when we're in a less crowded area.

'I ... I was kissing Ash, upstairs, and —'

'He didn't force himself on you, did he?' Lissie interrupts, her face both angry and shocked.

'No, it wasn't like that ... I wanted him to be another guy, but last time I saw that guy we said all these horrible things to each other and now he hates me and I thought I hated him but I can't get him out of my _head_, and —'

'Max, calm down,' comes Lissie's second interruption. 'You need to relax. And who is this guy, anyway?'

My eyes widen, and I open my mouth to stutter a reply when Nudge rushes over to me in alarm, Iggy close at her side. His eyes are curious, wary and scared all at once. 'Max …' Iggy breathes.

'What's going on ...?' I say cautiously.

'Max, your mom's at the door,' whispers Nudge. 'She's in tears.'

I hurry after my brother and best friend as they go to the front door where Mom stands, her hair a mess and her eyes bloodshot. Tears drip down her cheeks even as we watch.

She looks at both me and Iggy, her eyes pits of the greatest sorrow.

'Max, Iggy ... Jason's dead.'

* * *

><p><strong>I'm going to get so, so much hate. Don't kill me, guys. Hey, at least she admitted she wanted Fang to be kissing her! Heh … heh …<strong>

**FANG MAKES HIS LONG-AWAITED APPEARANCE NEXT CHAPTER, WOO!**

**Alright, kids. Review or I'll come to wherever you live and slap you!**

**WAIT! Before I leave, am I the only one who thinks the HAHAHAHA bit in Take Care (Drake ft. Rihanna) is fuzzing hilarious? Yes, no? Eh. Review.**


	15. Black

**Okay. Just because I love you.**

**Before we begin, the author's note at the bottom will probably clear something up for all of you, so I'd recommend not skipping it. There'll be another AN like that at the end of the next chapter, and then they'll be normal length again. I can almost promise! Haha.**

**WAIT! Lastly, there _is_ a reason for the date at the start of this chapter. Don't question my motives, sweethearts. :)**

* * *

><p><em><strong>18 August<strong>_

Black.

It's all anyone's wearing, all they're feeling, and, hell, even the weather's black, but it refrains from the downpour.

Iggy's hand is tight around mine and his skin is ghostly pale, but he doesn't cry. He's our strong point now, and he knows that. If he cries, there'll truly be no hope.

I've always hated funerals, for that.

They suck away your happiness and leave you despairing, with tears glistening on your cheeks and one more day in your life ridden by depression. And what can you do about it? Nothing. Because sooner or later, no matter how much you try to distract yourself from it, the grief will come running back when you're most vulnerable. Bitch.

Mom kneels by the coffin, a rose in her trembling hands. She cries silently, but the sobs that shake her body are visible to every single person attending.

Eventually, she gives up and presses the red rose onto the hard mahogany of Dad's coffin. She looks up and her eyes meet those of the priest. He looks pitying, and anyone who knows my mom knows also that she hates being felt sorry for. So she gets to her feet and walks over to Iggy and I, taking my other hand and holding it as if letting go would allow her to drown in her own tears.

The words and prayers of the priest are just muted babble in my ears. It still hasn't sunk in, to be honest. That Dad's gone.

He was so happy before, so joyful. How did it all change so fast? How did his condition soar and then hit rock bottom the next second?

I close my eyes, but they're just as black as the world around me.

* * *

><p>The guests all chatter and smile as if none of that happened, as if this isn't a funeral but a large, happy gathering. I don't get it, and I can tell that Iggy, at my side, doesn't either, but I don't bring it up.<p>

Mom's trying her hardest to distract herself by laughing with her best friend, but as soon as she's on her own once more she'll be left vulnerable, heartbroken and exhausted, and who knows what that'll make her do.

A lone figure appears in the doorway, silhouetted against the light flooding through and leaning against the jamb. It's definitely a man, due to his tall height, narrow hips and lean build, but I can't make out his features.

I look away, after a few seconds, but my eyes are inexplicably drawn back to him. He's still there, standing perfectly still, yet no one seems to have noticed his presence.

In the corner of the room sits Ella, by herself – it's not like anyone else could see her, anyway. I know she wants to be alone so I don't go to her, but she's been here for the whole ceremony, silently supporting us while simultaneously wallowing in her own sadness. Just like us she is garbed in black, and I know if I were to touch the fabric I'd feel it on my fingertips as if I was wearing it myself. As I watch, though, eyes pass over her and legs walk right through her pretty garments.

I look back to the guy in the doorway, but he hasn't moved. I sigh and prepare to walk to another part of the room, maybe to the food platters, but to my surprise he raises a hand and beckons me over. No one else looks at him, or so much as blinks an eye.

I'm hesitant to go to the man, but I don't know what else to do and I comply to the clear request. I soon draw close enough to see his face, but when I do I almost turn around and walk away.

'I'm not up for your shit right now, Fang,' I say wearily, ignoring the thrill that trickles down my spine at the sight of him.

He stands straight from the frame of the door and takes a few steps towards me, but I back up. He looks impeccably handsome in his button-up black shirt – the fanciest item that Fang would ever willingly wear – with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, though his dark jeans are the same as always.

'I wasn't planning on it,' he replies. I'd forgotten how low his voice was.

I bit my lip. 'What is it, then?' I look to the corner; Ella's eyes are carefully trained on the two of us.

He's silent, and I glance up to meet his eyes, as dark as ever. Unlike the blackness of the funeral, his eyes give off a warmth that I simply want to fold into.

He beckons again, this time indicating that we go outside. I realize that if we continued much longer, I'd look quite strange, conversing with "thin air".

'I know what you're going through,' is what he finally settles for saying, once we're under the shelter of the thick trees.

'You have no _idea_what I'm going through!' I yell, suddenly furious. Who was he just do show up here acting as if he was king of the world, after all the things he said to me the other day?

His jaw clenches, and then he's suddenly right behind me, barely an inch between our bodies.

'Actually, I do,' he growls. I can feel the tension radiating between us and the stiffness of his limbs.

Giving up, I let out a heavy sigh and let my head fall forward. Fang retreats from my back and walks a hundred-or-so feet ahead. His stance is tense.

Between us is just silence; neither of us speak, and all that we can hear is the whooshing of the racing wind.

I slowly walk to where he stands, taking my time. I shiver. For the end of summer, it's surprisingly cold, and the clouds above threaten of impending rain.

I stand a couple of meters behind him, studying the rigid lines of his back and the ripples of muscle in his arms, but he moves again to lean against the closest tree and my grazing eyes are torn away. I remain where I am, at a right angle to him.

He crosses his arms over his chest and his eyes flick up to meet mine. He looks over me for a moment, profusely embarrassing me as his eyes obviously linger on my legs and body – not like he was trying to hide it.

I start to chew on my bottom lip, but Fang's there in a instant. He gently prizes my lip from my teeth with his fingers, then moves his hand to brush back some of my hair. I hold my breath and look up at him, unable to move; immobilized.

One of his hands drifts to my hip and pulls me slowly but surely closer to him. I stumble, unsteady on weakened legs. His touch seems to burn through my skin – and I love it.

My eyes can't tear themselves away from him – the line of his jaw, dusted by his dark five-oh-clock shadow, which he normally never has unless he's not been able to shave at all recently; his eyelashes that any girl would kill for; the unruly mess of black hair on his head which shamelessly falls over an obsidian eye; the sculpted musculanity of his body – but soon they're forced to when he tears himself away from me and disappears in that same flash of light. All that does is leave me in more of a wrecked state than I was in beforehand.

* * *

><p><strong>Yeah, I told you he'd be returning! Eep! Well, yeah, he's still got that jerkiness to him, but he's still pissy at Max, so. <strong>

**Actually, I'm going to copy and paste part of a little PM sesh I had with ****lillianeherondale****. Just warning you that it will make this author's note fair long, but I want to clear this up for all of you if you're unsure.**

**Her question? **_"__I guess on one chapter, 'pine' I think it was, was Fang really jealous of Ash and that's why he said all those cruel things to Max? That would calm my conscious because right now all I can think of is that Fang was so mean to her and he was just so cruel."_

**My answer, word for word? **_"In answer to that - imagine if you had died and found there was some way someone could save you, but then they're being really slow about it and they seem (seem! I'm not saying they are) like they're stalling. Like they don't want to; like they don't care. You'd be frustrated. You'd be angry. You'd be desperate - for either another chance at life or a chance to finally move on. And then when these emotions and more build up, it's obvious that sooner or later you're going to explode. That's pretty much what he did._

_Of course, the jealousy adds to it - yes, Fang did like Max, and no, he did not want her to date Ash, and yes, he saw Max's attraction to Ash. His cruelty wasn't really fueled by jealousy - it was just what triggered his explosion._

_It's different for Angel and Ella. Angel came along and Fang was there for her the whole way. Besides, when she died she was only young and didn't understand. As she mentally matured she grew to, but she still had a companion, so she wasn't all too lonely, and she wasn't in the crossover for nearly as long as Fang._

_Ella came along long after both Fang and Ella - only six (or so) months before our story takes place. She had two companions and was pretty much in the crossover for no time at all compared to some other trapped souls._

_But then there's Fang. For years on end he was trapped in nothingness alone, without anybody, and was only allowed back on earth when Max was chosen. And then think of his tragic life, and THEN add the stuff he's feeling because he thinks Max doesn't want to help out and give him a chance of freedom. It wouldn't be fantastic._

_Hopefully that all made sense to you and clears it all up. I'm sorry for the confusion!"_

**I know how long that was, but this is just so you all understand that Fang wasn't totally being a stupid, impulsive, insensitive freak. **

**Before I leave you, WOW. I'm honestly surprised at the short length of this chapter. I mean, one thousand three hundred and some words is the smallest amount in the world to me, haha. Ah, well.**

**Ready, set, review!**


	16. Perfect?

**Hey hey .**

**Just an apology about Max and Fang's and everyone's OOC-ness in this story. It isn't that big of a deal or anything – like, this is a very different story, you wouldn't expect them to be exactly the same – but yeah. **_**Sorry.**_

_**EDIT***_

**I swear I updated. I swear. I swear I clicked that button. And then over the next few days I was just left there thinking, _What? Why has no one reviewed or subscribed or anything? WHY IS LIFE SO CRUEL? _And then this morning I checked my emails, still feeling confused. When I saw it was for BGS I was all like, YES! TAKE THAT, JESUS! **

**But _then_ I noticed it was for the last chapter I posted, _not _this one, telling me all about how I should update. I think that's when I figured out I didn't actually post the chapter. Woops! Sorry guys! **

**Haha, thanks to _Narwhalesandnikahs _for alerting me to my little slip-up. Heh. -sheepish laugh-**

* * *

><p><em><strong>18 November<br>**_  
>The house is empty; unbearably so.<p>

I examine the open drawers, devoid of utensils. All the power switches are off, and the fridge no longer radiates with that constant, comforting buzz.

The wooden floor of the living room seems like a desert, now, with no furniture piling atop it. The whole area stretches on forever, and the echoes of my voice and even my breathing hurt my ears.

Upstairs, I know it'll be much the same. Clear of furniture, clear of everything that I've grown up accustomed to. I know this is for the best, but it doesn't make it any less painful – you know, leaving your childhood home and playground behind for good.

'Max, come on!' calls Mom from outside. I assume they've finished the packing by now and reluctantly exit, unwilling to admit to even myself that it will probably be the last time I walk through that door, tread the bristly doormat, observe the lush surroundings.

Iggy leans against a thick pillar on the porch, his eyes distant with thought. Victoria's hand is in his, and as I watch he turns to her and gives a grim smile, though it comes across as more of a grimace. She runs her other hand up and down his arm and rests her head on her shoulder.

The six workers pile into their three respective trucks, and I know one will be off to the nearest Salvos with all the items that Mom no longer believes we need.

Ig and Victoria make their way into the car, after Mom. I already know I'll be in the front passenger seat. She revs the engine and I hurry my pace a little, bag beating my back as I jog down the deck stairs.

I hop quickly into the car and let my head rest on the window, though it bounces smally with every turn or speedbump on the roads. Rain trickles down the other side of the glass, and even with the headlights on we can only see about twenty feet ahead in the gloom.

I think it was a silent agreement throughout the household, that we were going to move. We didn't have enough money to support ourselves in the monster of a house we were living in, but with the extra cash that comes from selling it, we should have enough to keep us on our feet for a long while now.

The new place we're moving to is a modest suburb on the edge of the city, just before the farmlands and hillsides begin. It's well-sized for a family of three, and I can see Mom's satisfaction, though we're all pained to leave the old Martinez home behind.

Victoria's not moving in with us, if you're wondering. She's just here to support Iggy. He's been the epitome of emotional wreck lately, but her presence comforts him. We've grown used to having her around by now and she's actually really nice and surprisingly goofy.

The car ride drags on for an odd fifteen minutes or so before we come to a stop in front of our new home.

I smile.

It's perfect.

* * *

><p>My fingers run along the tops of the gravestones, the gravelly edges leaving tingly sensations on my skin.<p>

My feet lightly tread the grass that compresses and rises along with my steps. The cemetery is ironically bright today, causing my mouth to twist in a wry smile as I notice just how much the weather contradicts my mood. The sun shines blindingly overhead and bouquets of colorful flowers lay upon the graves of their recipients. In my left hand loosely sits a cluster of Suntory blue roses – Dad's old favorite. It took me a while to acquire the rare and expensive flowers, but I managed.

Eventually I reach his tombstone. The grass has grown over the dirt, but the words engraved in the surface of the stone are perfectly clear.

_May heaven's eternal  
>joy be thine.<em>

_Jason Martinez_  
><em>1956 - 2011<em>  
><em>Beloved Father,<em>  
><em>Husband,<em>  
><em>And Son.<em>

I stay there for a while. The heat pushes against all sides of my body and invades my mind, but I don't pay it much attention. Soon enough clouds slide over the sun's radiance, masking the blazing heat and dimming the world around me.

I feel his presence behind me before I see him, and he answers my question before I have even uttered it.

'No.' His voice is as low as ever. 'He passed through without difficulty. In fact, he seemed quite happy to be free of the burdens that had been weighing him in life.'

I grimace. 'No surprise there.'

A silence floats between us for a minute or so, full of untold words and hidden secrets and twisted expressions that never make their way to our faces. Eventually, the soft crushing of leaves under feet breaks this.

He stops about a foot behind me, and I slowly turn to face him.

'Thanks for visiting,' I say, my voice in a steely monotone, 'but I'm guessing you have places to be. You wanna go to them and piss the hell off?'

'Max —'

'My dad's _dead_, Fang, and the only time you've come to so much as _pretend _you care is to rub it in my face.'

'_Max _—'

'You know what, Fang? _Fuck off._' I blew him a mocking kiss before turning and starting to walk away.

_'MAX_!' he yells, grabbing my forearm and pulling me to face him. I fall silent and glower at him, my chest rising and falling at an increased tempo from my erratic breaths.

He takes two quick steps towards me, grabs my hip with one hand and a handful of my hair with the other, and kisses me.

* * *

><p><strong>(Beep! Beep! Beep! Cheesiness alert! If you don't like annoying sappiness about how amazing kissing is with Fang, skip this bit, munchkins!)<strong>

Kissing Fang isn't like I'd expected.

I mean, _yeah_, I'd thought about it. How could I not? I was just another teenage girl at heart, and faced with a guy who looks like _that_ is sure to elicit a reaction in the hormone department. But I hadn't imagined just the way _I'd_react when his lips crush against mine.

My heartbeat speeds up so much so that my chest hurts, but I disregard this and roughly twine my fingers through his hair. My breaths, just then hurried and panting, are now struggling to even come out because I find myself unable to breathe. His touch burns holes through the fabric of my clothing and sears through my skin, and I _love it_.

All my senses can't get enough – his _taste_, like the most perfect wine, trickling onto my tongue slowly and making me yearn helplessly for more; his _scent_, like musk and jasmine, invading my nostrils and making me inhale him when I actually manage to control my breathing; his _touch_, ever so gentle yet rough and desperate and _hot_; the _sounds_ of his ragged breaths and my thundering heart, which I'm sure he can hear as well; and the _sight_of him when he pulls back, black hair mussed, midnight eyes hungry and full of indecipherable emotions, his chest rising and falling rapidly, the veins visible in his exposed forearms.

Without another word, he takes me in with those eyes and then comes back to me, pulling me to him and holding me in his arms.

'I'm sorry,' he whispers, his lips at my ear. I close my eyes and rest my head on his shoulder, letting my hands slide up the strength of his chest to his neck, where they stay.

_**Well. This is good.**_

I jump, breaking Fang's hold in my shock. The last I heard from the Voice was — god, I don't even know. Nor have the haunting dreams pervaded my mind for a while, and I'd have almost forgotten about them if it weren't for the ongoing struggle with my silver eyes. Luckily I've been gaining more control in that area, and now it takes little to no difficulty to keep my eyes the same dull old brown I was born with.

_Voice?_

There isn't a reply, but I wasn't expecting much else. I try again. _Yo, Voice-o!_

Nup. Nothing. How rude.

Fang takes my hand. 'What is it?' he asks softly.

I look up. The sky has taken on a pink tinge as the sun lowers itself below the horizon, and the clouds look almost painted as they float high above.

'What is the stupid Voice for, anyway?' I say, my own voice just as quiet as Fang's. His gaze follows mine to the sky and his shoulders lift in a light shrug before he sits down. He's close enough to my father's gravestone that he could easily reach out and trace the engraved letters, but he doesn't. I sit in front of him, and our knees touch. '

'Why?' I ask him, a short while later, as my fingers hesitantly trace the line of his jaw, his throat, and back up to his nose, his lips.

He looks at me in confusion.

'I mean ...' I stop, reconsidering my words. 'We were best friends, and then we fought and you completely kept out of my life until the funeral where you left me _totally _confused, and now ...' I trail off.

He's silent for a while, before he finally says, 'Look, Max, I was an idiot. I know that. I was angry and stupid and jealous, but I shouldn't have said those things.' His mouth twists and I see a battle of great pain in his obsidian irises. One of his hands comes up to push some hair away from my face. 'I've wanted to do this for so long,' he confessed lowly, 'but I've been an idiot in more ways than one and that's kept me from a lot of things I've been wanting.'

'You weren't an idiot,' I tell him. 'You were right, when you said that stuff. But I was too stubborn and full of pride to admit it.' I bite my lip.

He looks away. 'That's no excuse.'

Eager to lighten the somber mood that has fallen over us, I push him into his back and lie over him. My long hair tumbles around us and forms a wall between us two and the outside world.

'Prove it,' I say, letting my full weight rest on top of him. A smile dances around my lips, showing him the playfulness I was feeling.

The mood catches on in a flash, and he rolls us over so he's poised over me. He balances himself on his elbows, placed to either side of me, so that our bodies brush together lightly but also so he doesn't crush me. He smirks and brings his face close enough that I can see the individual flecks of gold in his half-lidded eyes.

'Are you sure you're ready for that?' The rough manliness of his voice makes my whole body heat up and my stomach coil into knots – not that I was protesting.

I bite my lip, and he watches with hungry eyes. 'Are you?' I'm surprised at the hoarse flirtatiousness that sounds in those two words, but when Fang growls and harshly presses his mouth to mine I take it that he liked it.

Continuing with our game, I push him back. His eyes are on fire when they flick up to meet mine.

I lean up to whisper into his ear, '_I don't believe you._'

'About what?' he snarls, clearly wanting me to just give it up already. I grin mischievously.

'You're not sorry, are you?'

Now his face is positively stormy – but I can see the teasing and care glinting just behind the darkness of his expression. He's as in on the game as I am.

His arms slide underneath me, around the dip of my waist, and arch my back toward him. My arms fall back to the grassy ground and my hair is like a wavy blonde waterfall below my head, the ends sliding across the dirt with every movement I make.

His lips brush against the skin of my throat and I tilt my head back further to allow him access, but he doesn't come any closer. He brings his mouth back up to mine, but just as I make the move forward so we can kiss properly he jerks his head to the side and my lips meet his cheek. I meet his eyes and realize that now _he's_ playing with _me_, not the other way around. They glint with mischief and deviousness. From experience, when he's like this, it's impossible to win.

_Well. Shit._

But at the same time, this knowledge satisfies my raging hormones, and the dominant part of my brain yells, _Yes! _

'Fang,' I murmur. Even in my position, I'm able to raise myself higher so my torso is tightly pressed against his.

He raises one dark eyebrow and cocks his head to the side. 'Yes?' he says, seeming hardly aware of my position nor my frazzled state.

In his moment of weakness, I take the chance to push him onto his back and straddle his hips. The flame returns to burn in his eyes. I grin victoriously.

It only takes a split second for him to retaliate. He slides out from underneath me so quickly I miss it, takes me in his arms, and throws me high into the air. I yelp, tumbling through the air, and totally forget for a moment that I have wings. I snap them out at the very last second, but the sudden strain causes them to collapse and I fall to the ground below.

Fang walks over to my side as I sit and glare. He smirks at down me. 'Enjoy yourself?'

I growl and stand up, shoving him away, but unfortunately I'm still as uncoordinated as ever and I stumble, falling back down. Fang snorts with laughter.

'_Smooth_...' he jokes. I glare up at him.

'Help me up,' I demand. My hand waits patiently in the air for a while and he just watches it, but eventually he relents and assists me to my feet.

We stay there for a minute, not touching, our eyes not meeting. My thoughts drift, and then I say, 'Fang, I can't do this.'

He looks up at me, obviously surprised. I make the mistake of meeting his eyes, and he sees right through me. He harshly pulls me to him, holds me tightly and allows his warmth to soak through me and heat me to my core.

'Look, Max,' he says lowly. 'She was then. _You're _now.'

'If she came back now – if Ilia came back now – would you go to her?'

He looks me straight in the eye. 'She'd be my oldest and best friend, sure, but you'd be the one I'd want to be with. Don't you get it, Max? I _loved _her, but that's in the past, and now I _love _you.'

* * *

><p><strong>Agh, cliched sappiness. Excuse me while I go vomit.<strong>

**Sorry for my absence, by the way, everybody. Just thought I'd add that in.**

**OH! I totally forgot to mention this - I've got one or two ideas for a novel, but I'm undecided as to whether to do first or third POV. What do you think? Usually I end up hating the girls in first POV (except Max), but at the same time first makes them more relatable to readers. Tell me what you think in a review. **

**By the way, do you know what's **_**really**_** beautiful? More beautiful than One Direction and the Janoskians put together? That lovely review button. Half of you will just exit this, but if you do **_**I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN AND EAT YOU AND GIVE YOUR BRAIN TO MY FISH. **_

**Be scared. Be very, very scared.**

**But of course, that won't happen if you actually do review (do review! DO reVIEW! Hahahaha - sweet baby Jesus, I need friends). It's a very simple process.**

**Ich bin goodbye. And ich bin don't correct me on my improper German or I'll ich bin cut off your eyelids, tie you on a table underneath a mirror and cut you into twenty-six pieces while you watch, because the ich bin improper German is ich bin intentional and just so you know, I ich bin know when 'ich bin' is actually meant to be ich bin used. Ich bin goodbye. **

**(Ich bin review.)**


	17. And Only Darkness

**I worked extra hard to get this chapter to you (seeing as it's usually frustratingly difficult to update and I've been putting the majority of my focus into another of my stories), just because I love you guys so much after the reviews I got for the past chapter. You're all amazing! Thank you so much :')**

**Just to make it clear, Fang saying that he loved Max in the last chapter didn't count as part of her whole "love mission" thingy. Yeah, he said "I love you", but it was in the midst of a sentence and he didn't declare it officially. Therefore, he has to say it again before anything serious happens! That's probably really confusing at the moment, but it should make more sense after you've read all of this.**

**Enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

><p>I look over my work with a proud smile. My whole left wall is covered from top to bottom in pictures and posters – friends, family, celebrities, you name it. Right in the middle sits an enlarged photo of Ella, Dad, Mom, Iggy and myself sitting high up on the top of a brick wall.<p>

In it, Ella looks petrified – white-knuckled hands squeezing the brick in an iron grip; wide eyes; parted lips; one raised knee, indicating her hesitance – while Ig and I are both laughing hysterically, both at her and from elation at the height. Dad and Mom just sit there smiling to the camera, which I know Nudge sits behind.

'Max!' Iggy calls now. 'Mom told me she wants you to do the dishes!'

I scowl, but call back, 'I'll be down in a minute!'

I turn and face the one intruding on the privacy of my bedroom, not that I overly mind.

'Hey, El.'

She smiles faintly, but her eyes are distant. I come to sit by her on the small sofa by my right wall. 'Hey,' she greets quietly.

I glance at her, but don't speak. Eventually I murmur, 'You've been very out of it lately. Everything fine?'

She nods. 'Just ... with Dad and everything ... all of this ... It's a bit overwhelming, is all.' She smiles at me, truly. 'I'm good, promise.'

I look at her suspiciously, but I know she can sense the playful glimmer right behind it. 'You don't break your promises ... but ...'

Ella raises one, chocolate-brown eyebrow. 'But?'

'But you're pretty messed up, so I can't be sure anymore!' I shake my head. 'Tut, tut. Shame on you. I always told you that you need to be hospitalized, but who listens to Maxie?'

My sister rolls her eyes. 'Yeah, yeah.' We're silent for a minute or so, Ella standing to look out my window. 'You wanna go for a walk?' she ends up asking.

'Sure.' I get to my feet and pull my (unfortunately) form-fitting tank top down. Since our new house is in such a different environment from our old one in Virginia, I'm sure no one will see or hear if I speak aloud to Ella – you know, considering no one else _alive_can see her, and all.

At the first clean-looking bench we see outside, not covered in grime from its old age, we seat ourselves and are content just to watch the trees, the birds flitting above. But it's not enough.

'I feel like ... I should've been a better sister, you know?' I whisper. The whole D and M conversations have never been for me, but with guilt biting shamelessly at my whole essence the words just spilled from my mouth.

She smiles grimly. 'You didn't need to be. You were the same as any other sister. How could you have known?'

I don't say anything, but I still feel guilty. She notices and gets to her feet, hands on her hips. I notice how much she looks like Mom, then; looks like me.

'Maximum Martinez,' she scolds, 'it wasn't your fault. If you keep feeling all sad and sorry for yourself —'

'— I'm not —'

'— then I'm telling Mom.'

'And how do you think you're gonna do that?' I tease. I can see her mentally hit herself as she realizes her mistake.

'Okay, okay, smarty-pants,' she mumbles, sitting back down. 'But I'll still make you pay somehow!'

'Eurgh, you're so annoying,' I say, rolling my eyes.

'You're annoyinger.'

'That's not a word.'

'Is too.'

'Is not.'

'Is too!'

'Is not!'

'Is too!'

'Is not!'

'Is too!'

'Is not!'

'Is too!'

'It is not ...' I sigh dramatically and whip out my phone, taking a second to look up the question, "_Is "annoyinger" a word?_" I read through the answers.

'See? It's not,' I boast. 'Even _Urban Dictionary_says so.'

She snatches the phone from me and scans the answers herself. 'Hey, WikiAnswers agrees with me!' she protests.

'Well it's obviously wrong, seeing as all the others disagree,' I say smugly. She glares at me and grudgingly hands me the phone.

'Fine,' she huffs.

I look at her, and a grin grows slowly on my face. She catches my eye, and soon our expressions mimic the other's. A second later we burst into laughter, the sound echoing out across the empty park.

We calm down a few minutes later, still a giggle here and there. Ella gets back to her feet, biting back a smile. I join her.

'So ... how are things?' she asks me.

I give her a strange look. 'You've been here half the time, and even when I couldn't see you I bet you still were. So why are you asking?'

She shrugs. 'I guess I wanna hear it from you,' she says.

'Well, Iggy's back to his irritating old self,' I tell her, 'and he's still head-over-heels for Victoria. They're a good couple, though; she's just as goofy as he is.' I think, then say, 'Mom's getting a lot better. She's talking again, cooking again, you know.'

Ella nods. 'That's good. Has she been seeing anyone?'

'Yeah, so that probably helps. She visits Dad's grave only three times a week now, not every single day, so she's recovering. She's moving on.'

'Are you?'

I look at my sister, a bit startled by the question. 'What d'you mean?'

'Are you moving on?' She pushes a piece of dark hair out of her eyes.

'Yeah, I guess so,' I say. 'Obviously it still hurts, but I suppose a part of me knew it was gonna happen. Even with his "miraculous recovery".'

'Yeah,' Ella agrees. We keep walking in silence for a few seconds, but then she adds, 'What happened to that Ash guy?'

I snort. 'I told him we wouldn't work. He took it pretty hard. You know, big tanty and everything.'

She laughs.

'Besides, he lives pretty far away from here now. We don't communicate anymore, but I guess that's for the better.' I shrug. 'Oh, and I'm all fine with Nudge, Gazzy, and, you know, all them.'

'That's good,' Ella says. She hesitates for a moment, looking unsure, then blurts, 'Have you heard anything from my friends?'

A pause, before I say, 'Yeah. They're all still extremely upset, but they're getting over it. Your best friend – Melinda, was it? Melissa?'

'Melody,' Ella corrects quietly.

'Yeah, Melody. I heard she's been in therapy for depression or something. Sort of like Mom, but a bit different.'

'I hope she's getting better,' Ella whispers. I look at her, and see thick tears brimming in her eyes. She forcefully keeps them back, makes them stay away.

'Oh, El,' I say, pulling her into a hug. As soon as she's in my arms she begins to really cry, to sob. Her weeping is silent, but apparent in the shaking of her body and the bucking of her shoulders. I let her be, struggling to keep back my own tears.

Eventually she calms but she stays there, locked in our hug. Neither of us are willing to move. The back of my neck prickles and I can tell Fang is watching us, but I don't go to him.

'Sorry,' Ella sniffles, pulling back and wiping her now-bloodshot eyes. I assume she senses Fang as well.

'I should go,' she says softly, 'he wants you.'

I grimace, but say anyway, 'Come back later.'

She nods, taking my hand and letting a small smile come forth. 'I will,' she promises, and then she's gone.

I feel him before I see him, his arms wrapping around my waist from behind and his chin resting on the top of my head. I lean into his front, letting myself relax.

'Your mom made you cookies back at your place, but you weren't there,' he murmurs.

'And you were?' I retort, just as quietly.

'I came just after you left with Ella,' he explains. He spins me to face him, then pulls me close.

'I just had my fair share of hugging, Fang,' I protest feebly, pushing him back with weak hands.

'You were the one doing the hugging then, Max,' he returns. 'Now it's your turn to be the victim.'

I give into him and let him hold me, but then all of a sudden he whips me up so my legs are around his waist. I shriek and struggle to get down, and he laughs.

'Relax!' he tells me with a chuckle. 'Relax. I've got you.'

I reluctantly ease my writhing and look at him with a pout. 'Fa-_ang_,' I whine.

He cocks an eyebrow, that irritatingly sexy lopsided smirk of his on his lips. 'Yeah?'

'Put – me – _down_.'

'In your dreams, Maxibon.' He snickers at my protests and I hit his shoulder, but I know he hardly feels it. Stupid boy.

'You're such a ... you're such a ...' I search for something quickly. 'You're such a bird!'

He snorts, then begins to laugh properly. 'A bird?' he asks incredulously, through his chuckles. 'What kind?'

'A raven,' I say, 'or a crow or something. But an especially annoying one.'

'You're annoyinger.'

I groan. 'Not this again!'

* * *

><p>Ella and Angel have been at home with me for the past hour. We've just been chatting, binging on cookies (well, <em>I<em> have, but I admit, I wouldn't let them have any), and making Angel uncomfortable with the boy talk. At first I'd been avoiding the dishes I was meant to do before Ella and I, well, _snuck out_, but in the end Iggy cornered me (literally walking through his sister) and made me do it before he went to Victoria's place.

So here we are now; me elbow-deep in cold, soapy water, Ella and Angel lousing on the kitchen benches.

'How's Fang going?' Ella asks with a wink, knowing only too well just the effect it would have on little Angel.

Right on cue, Angel squirms. 'Eurgh!' she says, wrinkling her nose. 'Max, I hope he didn't _kiss_you! Boys eat boogers with those mouths!'

I laugh loudly, as does Ella. You'd think that with Angel being over ... oh, you know, _twenty_, she'd be a bit more _mature_ about these things, but I guess some traits just stick with you when you don't officially age and you're just stuck in black limbo.

'Does Fang eat boogers?' I ask her playfully.

She nods with fervor. 'Every boy does. They're all gross.'

Ella gives Angel a knowing look. 'I think I've seen you doing it once or twice, Ange …' she teases.

Angel's eyes widen comically and she jumps up from where she was sat. 'I do not!' she protests. 'That's icky! And they're all green and gross and –'

'Angel …'

'But I –'

'Ange …'

Angel looks from me to Ella, then huffs and slouches down, crossing her arms over her chest as she gives in. 'Fine …' she mumbles, glaring between us.

I snicker and turn back to the dishes. I take out the plug and drain half before refilling it with hot water and adding some more soap to the mix. As it fills, I turn back to Ella and Angel to find them –

Gone?

'Hey, guys?' I call. 'Hell-_o_?'

'Max!'

I look to where the voice came from, but it's only Mom. No wonder Angel and Ella left – but it's not like Mom would be able to see them anyway. I shrug. _Whatever_.

'Have you done the dishes?' she pesters.

'No, Mom,' I groan, 'I'm _sor_ry. I'm doing them. Now leave a poor girl in peace.' I shoo her jokingly.

She rolls her eyes at me. 'If they're not done by –' she glances at the clock – '_eight-thirty_ –' this time she gives me a pointed look – 'then you're grounded.' I sigh. I have half an hour.

'Okay,' I say, turning back to the now-full sink. She leaves with that.

I sense Ella and Angel before I see them, and grab a whole chunk of the soap, ready to aim and fire. As soon as I turn with my hands full of the bubbles they shriek and duck for cover, but it's too late. I get one handful all over Ella's perfect dark hair, and shove the other down Angel's collar.

Angel screams, torn between laughter and shrieks. She starts to writhe spastically, and at the sight I laugh so hard tears stream down my cheeks. Meanwhile, Ella is yelling and frantically trying to get the soap suds free of her hair.

Still hysterical, I manage to grab another handful of bubbles and this time throw them into the air. They go all over the place, landing on both Ella and Nudge and making their way to the floor. Not realizing this, I take a step forward and fall over, head over heels and landing on my ass. We all laugh so loud then that my ribs start to hurt and I can practically feel abs forming from the tummy work-out.

'Urgh, you guys suck,' I complain good-naturedly.

Angel grins at me cheekily. 'Love you Max!' she chirps.

Ella giggles, going along with it. 'Yeah, love you Max!'

'Love you too, guys,' I mutter begrudgingly. Then I shoo them away, saying, 'Now leave me alone! I'm the one who has to clean up all these bubbles before Mom gets home!'

* * *

><p>Fang's nose skims over my neck and his fingers ghost over my sides. He presses soft kisses to my skin.<p>

'Come on, Fang, _move_,' I urge, ignoring his ministrations. 'I need – to – kill – these – _spiders_!'

He glares up at me. 'Your video games are stupid,' he states.

I shrug. 'It's not my fault I'm a nerd. Now _move_, you stupid idiot of a child!'

Pouting slightly, he draws back, taking a seat next to him. I continue to batter my controller for a minute or two as I defeat the spiders and move on through the corridor, but soon I'm laughing at his expression.

'Aw, goochie goochie goo!' I croon, setting down the controllers (after hitting 'pause') and pinching his cheeks like I might a little kid. 'Goochie goochie goo! Poor baby's feeling a little down, hm? Baby want a cookie? Hey?'

He glares at me darkly, before grabbing my waist and swinging me my bed, across at least six meters. I squeal , which makes me cringe, considering – well, I'm _Max_. I don't _squeal_. Unfortunately, though, I've been doing a lot of squealing lately … stupid Fang.

He pins me down, knees placed on either side of my hips. He sits back on his heels, raising an eyebrow at me. Now it's my turn to glare as I push my upper body to a sitting position, arms behind me for support.

'You suck,' I state with a scowl. He grins back, proud of himself, before pushing me back onto my back.

'Fang –!' I protest, but my voice is cut off by his lips on mine.

They're smooth yet rough, gentle yet hard. They spark emotions within me that rarely rise to the surface, and soon these emotions sink to my belly where they coil in a tight knot of pleasure. His hands grip my waist tightly, knees applying the same pressure to my hips. He raises one hand to the side of my neck, scraping his fingernails along the skin there. I gasp against his mouth, and he seizes the chance to plunge in his tongue. His hands keep my own down to the bed, and I struggle to free them, to no avail.

'Um ... Max? What are you doing?'

My eyes shoot open and then Fang's rolled off me, biting back laughter. I can see the grin in his eyes, but I try not to focus on him, instead letting my attention go to Iggy.

I realize then how … how … _messed-up_ I must have just looked to my brother, and fight back my own snort. Kissing an invisible dead boy on my bed while Skyrim is still on my TV, just waiting to be played? Yeah, great image, Max …

He looks at me as if I have a giraffe growing out of the top of my head. 'Are you okay?' he asks.

'Yeah, I'm fine,' I squeak, then clear my throat. 'I'm fine,' I repeat, this time evenly.

The strange look remains on his face, and he peers around me – probably checking to see if the giraffe's out my back, instead. 'You … sure?'

'Yeah! Yeah, I'm good,' I say, too quickly. I'm eager for Iggy to leave so I can spend more time with Fang, but obviously _that's _been ruined.

Clearly not believing me but pretending to anyway, Iggy turns and slowly walks from the room, the bewilderment still set on his face. I wouldn't be surprised if he takes me in my sleep and ditches me in a loony bin or something.

As soon as he's gone, door shutting behind him, Fang bursts into laughter. I scowl at him, fighting back my own.

'You _suck_!' I say again, my voice hushed so Ig doesn't hear. 'Do you _know_ how _weird _that must've looked to him?'

Fang barely manages to nod among his hysterics, tears streaming down his cheeks. He's on the floor now, literally, with his feet kicking. It's so out of character for him that I'm momentarily startled, and then my frown returns, along with a pout.

'Think of how that must've looked!' I insist, moving forward until I'm on the edge of the bed looking down at him, resting on my heels with my hands on my knees. 'I'd have been –' I stop, my mouth forming an 'O' of horror. 'I would've been tonguing the air!'

This only increases Fang's laughter – the opposite result of what I was aiming for. In my desperation, I grab one of the pillows of my bed and throw it at him, hard. 'Fang! Stop laughing! This is serious!'

He stops for a second, staring at me with wide dark eyes, before laughing. _Again_. What is with this boy? It isn't _that _funny …

'Yes it is, Max,' he says among dwindling chuckles. He wipes his eyes, sighing contentedly.

_Stupid mind-reading hoe._

I get off the bed and walk back to my controllers, resuming the game. Fang's silent for a second, not moving, and then all of a sudden he's behind me, arms around my shoulders from behind and his chin on the top of my head. He watches me play for a minute or two, before commenting, 'You're such a nerd.'

'Thanks,' I mutter, moving away from him and hitting 'pause' once more. I set down the controls and walk away from him, towards the door. He catches my waist and pulls me back, turning me to face him.

'I'm sorry,' he murmurs. 'I didn't mean it.'

I don't say anything, just rest my head on his chest. He uses a finger to tilt my chin back up until our eyes meet. The laughter has gone from his face now, but a smile still lingers in his eyes.

He bends down, slowly, slowly, until my impatience wins over me and I grab his head, pulling him to me. He grins against my lips for a second before lifting me, pulling my legs around his waist and walking forward until I'm pinned against the wall. His mouth pulls away, moving to my neck, and I say breathily, 'Imagine if Iggy walked in now.'

Fang snorts and that grin of his returns. I can feel his teeth pressing, scraping against my skin and I tilt my head to the side, allowing him further access to my bare neck, as an airy gasp leaves my lips. He growls in satisfaction and pushes his body closer to mine, until I'm trapped between him and the wall with no means of escape. I don't mind.

'I love you,' he whispers as his head drifts back up. He utters the words again, mouth to mine now, though the words are muffled by my lips. 'I love you.'

'I love you too,' I reply, bringing my hands up to twine with his hair.

And then it all goes black.

* * *

><p><strong>Whoa! What happened? Why's it all dark? Did she black out? What about Fang?<strong>

**Guess you'll all find out in the next chapter!**

**This was pretty short, but it's okay. I hope.**

**I love you guys so much. Have I ever told you that? Your reviews never fail to make me smile!**

**Oh! And, you know what you should do? Speaking of reviews? ... REVIEW! Yeah, that's right. Review. Please. I'm begging you. I'm on my knees.**

**Wait! After you review, please go check out the story 'After Angel' by musicfreakmeg. It's amazing, to say the least. Honestly. It's the most thought-out story (that isn't AU) that I've read on the MR archive, the updates are frequent, there are little to no errors, and the storyline is just fantastic. It also fills in all those gaps that JP has left. Actually, it's better than JP's stuff (in my opinion). So, it's pretty much just a take on Nevermore, but it's amazing and I wouldn't be surprised if she's actually JP and that's the story itself. But okay.**

**Alright, NOW you can review. Please? I beg of you? Or ... or ... hm, threats seemed to work pretty well last time, but I can't think of any. Well, how about just to brighten my day (night ...)? That's the opposite of a threat, but it'll do.**

**REVIEW!**

**PS – I hope the Fax-y action was satisfactory ;).**


	18. A Highly Importance Notice (Please Read)

Hi, guys!

While this isn't a chapter, I thought I'd notify you all that writing for the _real_ Chapter 17 has begun―which means, in turn, that BGS will be starting up again. However, before I can update with the long-awaited chapter―that, if I'm honest, has caused me a _shitload_ of pain―I'm going through the prologue and chapters 1-17 and completely re-vamping them. The prologue and Chapter 1 have already been fully edited and improved, and hopefully are more enjoyable because of it! Chapter 2, Feathers, is undergoing ... I don't know. Maintenance? Keep in mind I wrote those chapters two to three years ago (wow!), so as you'd expect, my writing style has completely changed and has hopefully also gotten better. While not nearly all of the chapters have yet been redone, I'd love it if you guys could go through and have a bit of a reread before the release of Chapter 17.

I love you all! I hope you all realize how grateful I am to you for your support and your reviews. I know I'm a crappy updater, but I'm really pleased that I'm starting back up with this and making the old chapters considerably better―although since I'm adding and changing details, there might be some things that don't fit between the new and old documents. Try to stick with me!

Subscribers, I especially recommend to you that you reread the edits, seeing as it will help you to get used to my new ways of writing, show you the brand new chapters, and introduce you to the things I have added or changed in the storyline. All segments of dialogue have been changed, including the quotation marks (from ' to "), and you'll find there's been a lot more detail and insight into Max's thoughts. Among other things.

Sorry for the pain I've been, and while it might be another little while―with school and social things to keep up with―I can assure you that it will all be done soon.

Thank you for being so beautiful! And utmost apologies that my previous chapters were all so shockingly cringeworthy!

I'm not posting this AN on the exact day I wrote it―I'm leaving it until I've maybe edited some more, or gotten ready to―so... **May the 4th be with you!**

_village bicycle_

_And I just realized that BGS is on 100 followers―thank you guys so much! Go read the edits :)._

**_EDIT  
><em>Yeah, so I wrote that like 11 days back, just after I deleted my previous AN (God, how annoying are ANs, dude?) explaining my absences and my reasons for pretty much leaving this site. Since then I have been preoccupied with school―studying, homework, exams, issues with friends―as well as family, social and, if I'm honest, mental problems. They all pretty much take up the time I would be using to edit the chapters I promised I would work on. I'm slack and I make excuses, sure, but since I took down that AN I have gotten multiple reviews that have been angry about the lack of updates (since they didn't know the reason), and basically were not nice at all. So I have two things to say, and I'm uploading this AN early because I want to get them out: firstly, if you want me to update, _do not be a bitch to me or you will get nothing_; and secondly, I am only still working on this story because I love the people that love it and I am trying to get past my issues _for them_. I understand that mankind is a naturally self-natured race, but honestly, look on the flip side. Look past your own longing for more and come to the realization that _not everything is about you_, and maybe I don't have the time or the space in my life anymore for fanfiction writing. **

**But, to those who have been good and lovely and beautiful, please don't think I'm a huge bitch for everything I just said! I promise it's not aimed at you. I just got really frustrated at people who couldn't see anything past themselves and stuff... _And_, I'd just like to alert you that I am working on my first novel, in case you're interested. I guess it'd be classified as contemporary YA romance―John Green, Jodi Picoult... God, I can't remember any other authors like that, even though they're on my bookshelf. But alas.**

**Please be patient with me! And I'll be patient with you.**

_**village bicycle**_


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